


Heart of Ice

by flowerfan



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: AU, Anxiety, Canon Divergent AU, Established Relationship, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Panic Attacks, Paranormal, Reunion, Science Fiction, Sort-of vampires, Vampire Sex, Vampires, not exactly vampires, off-screen violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty and Jack have been dating happily since Jack’s graduation. When Jack mysteriously disappears, right after winter break during Bitty’s senior year, Bitty is devastated.   The media assumes he had another overdose, but Bitty doesn’t believe it.   A few hints emerge, but no real answers.  Bitty struggles to stay hopeful.  When Jack finally resurfaces… he’s changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 4 Days Since He's Seen Jack

**Author's Note:**

> While this fic starts off sad, with Bitty completely in the dark, my readers know that my favorite type of stories to write are ones where the main characters face a challenge together, and get through it based on the strength of their love. If anyone has any questions about this fic, please feel free to contact me or come talk on tumblr (flowerfan2). 
> 
> Huge thanks to my beta and great friend, perry_avenue (perryavenue on tumblr) for all of her assistance and support. This process would not be nearly as much fun without her!

**January, 2017**

It’s a bitterly cold January day, and Bitty is still shivering as he settles himself cross-legged on his bed, laptop propped in front of him. The heat in the Haus hasn’t been working very well since they all returned from winter break, and he makes a note to ask Dex to take a look at it tomorrow. Bitty really should be doing his history reading – he signed up for this class based on Jack’s recommendation, even though it seems a little too cerebral for a second semester senior – but he can’t make his brain focus on it. 

He misses Jack, but at the moment it is perfectly manageable. They spent almost a week together during winter break, before Bitty had to return to Samwell to get ready for second semester. As captain of the team Bitty wanted to make sure he was there when the guys started to trickle in, with pies at the ready. The Haus doesn’t smell as bad as it used to, but baked goods improve every situation. Besides, Bitty knows that one of the freshmen still gets homesick, and he wants to make sure he does whatever he can to help him feel welcome.

It’s been only four days since he’s seen Jack, which made it easier to miss being at Jack’s home game tonight. He’ll watch the game on television with the rest of the team. He knows Jack will call him when he gets home, or at least text him, even if it’s late. They’ve made this long distance thing work for over a year and a half, and although it’s never easy, it’s always worth it.

Soon Bitty gives up on his reading and goes downstairs. Chowder and Nursey are in the living room with the freshmen, explaining something that Bitty ignores in favor of heading into the kitchen. He gets a few trays of cookies in the oven, and checks his phone for the time. The game is due to start in less than an hour.

The cookies are done and Bitty is just taking a bite of one – cranberry chocolate chip – when Chowder sticks his head into the room.

“Bitty? Um, can you come here?”

Bitty follows Chowder into the living room, where most of the team has now gathered. “What’s going on, y’all?”

“Have you talked to Jack lately?”

Bitty frowns. “Not since lunchtime. We texted about that grilled chicken recipe I sent him. He thinks it needs more lemon juice… Why?”

The television turns from a commercial back to coverage of the upcoming game, and an announcer looks out at the camera. “All we’ve heard is that Zimmermann won’t be playing tonight. We’ll have more on that later, but it’s not good news for the Falconers.”

“Why isn’t he playing, Bittle?” Nursey asks.

“Is he sick?” Dex wonders. “It’s that time of year, everybody’s sick.” The two freshman sitting on the floor nod in agreement.

It would have to be the return of the bubonic plague to keep Jack off the ice, Bitty thinks, his stomach clenching. Whatever it was, it must have hit him hard. He quickly pulls out his phone and presses Jack’s number. It goes directly to voice mail. There are no texts or calls from Jack, not since their recipe conversation seven hours ago. It’s not like Jack to leave him in the dark. Bitty suddenly feels faint.

Chowder has his arm and is leading him over to the couch. “I’m sure it’s nothing, Bitty,” he says anxiously. “Maybe he twisted an ankle or something.”

Bitty sits down on the couch, Chowder staying close by his side. He calls Georgia – no answer. His voice when he leaves her a message sounds strange, and he hopes she calls back soon. He can’t think what to do next. Surely Jack is fine.

“I’m texting Shitty,” Nursey says, sitting on the coffee table right in front of Bitty, their knees touching.

“What can Shitty do?” Chowder asks.

“He’s his best friend, maybe he’ll know what’s going on.”

“Nurse, Bitty’s his best friend.”

“Bitty’s not just his best friend, he’s his-”

“Shh, guys, listen.”

The announcer implies that he has news about Jack, but then simply repeats what he said before. Bitty leans forward and rests his head on his knees, and he feels several hands patting his back. He concentrates on breathing. There’s nothing wrong, he’s getting upset over nothing. Jack is going to call him any minute and explain.

“Maybe his car broke down, and his phone battery died,” Chowder suggests.

“He’d get a taxi.” Bitty mutters.

“Maybe he fell asleep and forgot to set an alarm,” Chowder tries again.

Jack doesn’t even need an alarm, his brain doesn’t let him sleep much anyway, Bitty thinks. Jack would never miss a game, not if it were physically possible for him to be there. Something is very wrong.

Bitty sits up, looks at his phone again, and goes to his contacts. Alicia answers on the first ring.

“Eric? Is Jack with you?”

A lump as big as Everest forms in Bitty’s throat, and he drops the phone on the floor. Nursey picks it up. He’s leaning so close to Bitty that he can hear both sides of the conversation as Nursey explains how utterly clueless they are. Sadly, Jack’s parents are too.

They sit in silence, waiting. Although Jack’s absence is mentioned a few more times by the announcer, no further information is forthcoming. 

“Shitty texted back,” Nursey reports at some point. “He’s driving down to Providence. He’ll talk to the team after the game, let us know what’s going on.” Nursey takes Bitty’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Don’t worry, Bittle, he’ll figure it out.”

Bitty is shivering again, but it’s not from the cold this time. Someone brings him a blanket and tucks it close around him. Chowder’s still there, a warm, nervous presence at his side. They turn down the volume on the television, but keep it on, hoping for more news. Once or twice someone responds to the plays in front of them, but it doesn’t seem right to be cheering for the Falconers right now.

Bitty tries to relax and just wait, but his thoughts are spinning relentlessly. Please let him be okay, please let him be okay, he prays over and over. Surely Jack doesn’t deserve any more pain in his life. He doesn’t think it could be an overdose, can’t stand to imagine that Jack was feeling that bad and Bitty didn’t know about it. Things between them had been going so well – fabulously, wonderfully – surely Jack would have said something if he was feeling down? 

He wracks his brain, searching for a hint about what might have happened. There’s nothing looming on the horizon, no major stresses aside from the obvious – hockey, hockey, and more hockey. The excitement in the media over Jack’s coming out last summer has largely died down. The Falconers are doing reasonably well. Jack’s family and his own are healthy. The only major decision they had talked about lately was whether Bitty would move in permanently with Jack when he graduated this spring, and it was as much of a no-brainer as whether Bitty would continue to bake. 

Shitty texts Nurse to let him know he’s arrived, and is sweet-talking his way back to the locker room. He’s fairly friendly with some of the players, Tater in particular, and Bitty has no doubt he’ll be able to get in.

It’s Georgia who finally calls Bitty, however, making them all jump when Bitty’s phone rings. “I’m sorry I don’t have more information for you, Eric, but we just don’t know where he is. No one has seen him since practice this morning. I checked his apartment, even got the landlord to unlock it so I could go in, but he’s not there, either.”

“Where’s his car?”

“It’s at his place.”

Bitty can’t think of what to say.

“We’ve got the police on the way,” George continues. “Can I give them your name? They’ll probably want to talk to you.”

“Of course, whatever I can do.” Bitty hangs up the phone. But there’s nothing he can do. 

By the next day, only one thing is clear. Jack Zimmermann has disappeared.


	2. Ten Days Since He's Seen Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The first few chapters are short and will be posted in groups; later chapters are longer.

Bitty moves through the next few days in a fog. Chowder drives him in to Providence to talk to the police. Alicia and Bob meet him there, wrap him in tight hugs, and then sit with him for hours as nothing happens. The media is clamoring for news, but anytime they try to get close to Bitty, some intimidating men Bob brought along as security keep them at a distance.

The police escort Bitty to Jack’s apartment to see if anything looks out of the ordinary. It doesn’t. The leftover grilled chicken that Jack made for lunch the day before is in a plastic container in the refrigerator, next to the homemade jam Bitty made a week ago. A few of Bitty’s latest encouraging post-it notes are proudly displayed on the refrigerator door. There are still two pies in the freezer, for emergencies, Bitty always tells him. But they won’t help now.

Bitty is fairly certain that Jack’s newest running shoes are missing from the front closet, and while he can’t be sure, some sweatpants and other running clothes could be gone, too. Jack has so many of these, it’s hard to tell. Based on the missing shoes and the fact that Jack’s car is still in the lot, the police decide he must have gone running and, for a reason as yet undetermined, didn’t come back.

Bitty is almost hopeful that they will discover Jack in a hospital somewhere, waking from unconsciousness to demand a phone to call his boyfriend. But that doesn’t happen. The hospitals are contacted, of course, and any other place where the victim of a hit and run or other accident might be taken, but none of them have any record of someone matching Jack’s description. Bitty wants to go check the hospitals himself, but Bob won’t let him. Bitty’s not family anyway, they might not even give him any information, even if Jack was there.

He stays in a hotel with Alicia and Bob overnight, spends the next day at the police station, and then Chowder makes another trip to Providence to drive him back to Samwell. After spending a full day trying to avoid thinking about Jack by sleeping round the clock, and being entirely unsuccessful, he goes back to class. 

The team surrounds him as much as they can, loving on him no matter where he goes, escorting him to meals and classes and practice; it would make any southern church lady proud. He halfway expects them to start bringing him casseroles, but apparently they know better than to interfere with Bitty’s cathartic need to keep feeding everyone.

The television in the Haus is usually off, or they watch movies on DVD. No one wants to listen to the media speculate anymore about what may have happened to Jack. 

Now it’s ten days since he last saw Jack, and they have a game tonight. Bitty hadn’t played in the last one, but he talked to Coach Murray yesterday and insisted. It’s not good for the team for him to sit another one out, and Jack would hate being responsible for bringing the team down.

Amazingly, Bitty’s mind clears when he’s out on the ice, and they pull off a respectable performance. Not their best game, but it’s a win, and the team cautiously celebrates that night. Bitty sips at a beer for a few minutes and then retreats up to his room. This is when he’d ordinarily be talking to Jack, on the phone or on Skype, going over the highlights of the game and picking apart their mistakes, brainstorming drills for practice the next day. But not tonight.

Instead, he calls Shitty. He has found himself doing this a lot over the past few days. Bitty feels a little badly about it, but Shitty doesn’t seem to mind. He’s the only one that Bitty can really talk to right now – the guys on the team need him to be their captain, his mother is too worried about him, and Jack’s parents are out of their mind with grief. 

Often his conversations with Shitty go over the same ground, and tonight is no exception. “Do you think it was an overdose?” Bitty asks.

Shitty repeats the same things he has before. “No, I really don’t. And you don’t either.”

“And if it was, someone would have found him by now, right?”

“Gotta think so.”

Shitty’s favorite theory is that since no one has found Jack, he must be alive. “He must have gone somewhere – I’m not saying that makes any sense, and I don’t know why. But if he were dead, we would have found him.”

“Or he’s been taken. Kidnapped.”

After it becomes clear that Jack isn’t in a hospital somewhere, Bob and Alicia spent a few days just waiting for a ransom call to come. Bitty overheard a phone conversation Alicia was having with someone (an accountant, maybe?) about how quickly they could liquidate their assets. He has no idea how much money the Zimmermanns have, but it must be a lot. At least if this is a kidnapping, they might get Jack back soon.

As each day goes by without any ransom call, however, the kidnapping theory seems less likely. 

“You just need to hang in there,” Shitty says, his voice tired. It’s after two in the morning, and Bitty knows he can’t keep doing this to himself, or to his friend. They hang up, and Bitty slides down under the covers, hoping to dream of Jack.


	3. Twenty-Seven Days Since He's Seen Jack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As noted, the first few chapters are short, and will be posted in groups. Later chapters are longer.

They’ve just finished an away game at Yale, a hard loss. Chowder was injured in the second period and Duffy, their back-up goalie, struggled to fill in. Chowder’s not badly hurt, mostly angry at having to sit out. Bitty checks in on him in the locker room afterwards, and Coach assures them both it’s just a precaution, but that he needs to get evaluated for a concussion. Bitty hates playing Yale.

The whole team is on edge, worried about Chowder, not knowing how to console Duffy, and altogether disappointed in their performance. Bitty can’t seem to rouse himself to properly take care of his team tonight, and he feels that guilt on top of everything else. 

They’re filing back on to the bus for the two hour trip back to Samwell when Bitty hears a group of Yale players talking in the parking lot. 

“It’s an easy win against Samwell without Zimmermann.”

“Bro, you can say that again. Too bad he couldn’t make it in the NHL. Man was an amazing hockey player.”

“Can’t believe they let him OD again. Does anyone even believe the Falcs’ statements about not knowing what happened? You’d think an NHL team would take better care of their million dollar baby.”

Bitty feels his whole body tense, and spins around to face the speakers, two towering D-men and a third guy he thinks is a wing. “What did you just say?”

The wing looks abashed. “Sorry, man, about Zimmermann. We were just saying what an amazing player he was.”

Dex and Nursey have clued in to the situation, and are now standing on either side of Bitty, but he’s not paying them any attention.

“Jack didn’t OD. How dare you talk about him like that.”

One of the D-men comes forward, hands out and palms raised. “We didn’t mean anything by it, bro. But it’s no secret what happened. We said we were sorry.”

Dex is pulling Bitty backwards as Nursey goes to talk to the Yalies. “Just don’t make assumptions about him, okay? There’s no reason to think he OD’d. Just don’t talk about him that way.”

The guys shrug and back off. “Whatever, dude,” the wing says. “Have it your way.”

Bitty’s burst of anger subsides as Dex corrals him on to the bus. He can feel tears filling his eyes, and Dex guides him to a seat. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, Bitty.”

“It’s what everyone is saying, though, isn’t it? The media, the fans, everyone,” he stutters out.

Nursey is in the seat in front of them, hanging over the back into his space. “What are you going to believe, Bits? Garbage spewed by those random assholes? Or what’s in your heart?”

Bitty leans forward with his face in his hands and his forehead resting on the seat back in front of him. He truly doesn’t think Jack OD’d, and hopes with all his might that he didn’t. But he doesn’t know that the options are any better – hurt in some other way and left for dead? Hidden in some psychopath’s basement?

“I just want to see him again,” he says under his breath, as Dex rubs his back. “Please, Lord, let me see him again.”


	4. Ninety Days Since He's Seen Jack

The semester rolls on. Bitty’s mood rises and falls unpredictably for a few weeks, before he settles into a dull, plodding routine. Most of the time the fog in his mind only completely clears when he’s on the ice, and he wonders if that’s why Jack loved hockey so much, if it saved him from focusing on all the miserable thoughts swirling in his head. Final exams are coming up next month, and Bitty knows he has to pay attention; he needs to graduate.

Not that graduation is really something Bitty is looking forward to. He doesn’t have much of a plan.  
His mom wants him to come back home, but even through all of his current misery, Bitty knows that going back to Georgia would be a retreat. He might be a boyfriend with a missing partner, but he’s still got a boyfriend out there somewhere, and that status is still pretty unpopular down south. 

Bitty makes some halfhearted attempts at a job search. He has only made a few vlog posts since Jack’s disappearance, but his older ones still show quite well. He even goes down to New York City for a few days to interview, but he knows in his heart he won’t take one of those jobs even if they offer him a corner office.

The only place that seems even possible for him to be, after Samwell, is Providence. It’s where he last saw Jack. It’s where Jack was last seen. He has to believe that there is a clue, somewhere, about what happened. Until he’s sure that there isn’t, he’s not going anywhere else.

Alicia and Bob have told him that he can stay in Jack’s Providence apartment if he wants to, but after a three-hour conversation with Shitty, he admits to them that he thinks it would just be too hard. They promise him they won’t sell it yet, no matter what he decides. 

Bitty goes apartment hunting a few weeks before graduation. Chowder drives him. Chowder seems to have appointed himself Bitty’s personal assistant, and Bitty loves him for it. All of the guys support him, but Chowder is always there when Bitty needs someone to talk at him. Lord knows, the boy can talk. It doesn’t even matter what he says, he just fills the silence and takes some of the weight off Bitty’s chest.

Bitty doesn’t tell Chowder ahead of time, but when they get to the door and Bitty pulls out his key, Chowder figures it out. “This was Jack’s place.”

And mine, Bitty thinks. “Still is.” They go inside. It’s quiet. It pretty much looks like it did the day Bitty was last here, the day after Jack disappeared. He pulls a gym bag out of the closet and fills it with some of the clothes he had left in the drawers – mostly winter stuff, not that useful right now, but he just wants them. He wants some of Jack’s things, too, so he takes those as well – clothes he liked, his Samwell sweatshirt, a Falconers cap, the book about the Jacobite risings Jack was reading the last time they were together. 

Chowder follows behind him, finds another bag in the closet when Bitty fills up the first one. There are some things in the kitchen he boxes up and brings down to the car. He doesn’t bake as much as he used to, but it’s still part of him. He wants to use the pie plate Jack bought him at Williams Sonoma again, and the cute little whisk they found at a farmer’s market. He and Jack had a whole life together here, not every day, but weekends and school breaks and all of last summer. Long, lazy afternoons together, curled up in bed or dancing around the kitchen, rare but all the more precious for it.

Bitty settles on a small apartment a few blocks away from Jack’s place. He wants to stay in the neighborhood, near their coffee shop and the restaurant that seemed to change owners every three months. Back at Samwell that night, he gives in, and pulls out his phone. _Found a nice place,_ he texts to Jack, _you’d like it. The walls are light blue, and there’s a big window in the kitchen._ Of course, there’s no response. But he feels a little better tonight, a littler lighter, having spent the day in Jack’s space. Being in Providence will be better, he thinks. He just needs to hang on until he gets there.


	5. One Hundred and Ten Days Since He's Seen Jack

Lardo stands outside Bitty’s room, taking a moment to center herself. The Haus hasn’t changed much since she was here last, Chowder’s Sharks gear still proudly displayed in the room across the hall, the room she can’t help but still think of as Jack’s. There’s the same vaguely stale smell in the air, spilled beer and boy sweat always competing with Bitty’s efforts to keep the place civilized. 

But she’s not sure what she’s going to find when she sees Bitty. From what Shitty has told her, he’s not doing too well. She can’t really blame him.

Finally she knocks, calling out at the same time. She doesn’t want to surprise him. “Bitty, it’s me. Can I come in?” She hears him respond, and comes inside, closing the door behind her. Bitty’s on his bed, surrounded by books and papers, in a loose striped tank top and what are certain to be short shorts rivaling her own. 

“Hey, Bits, it’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

Bitty smiles softly at her. “If you thought I’d be asleep, why’d you come by?”

Lardo shoves her fingers in her shorts pockets and shrugs. “Just rude, I guess.”

“Come here, you.” Bitty slides out of bed and wraps his arms around her. She hold him tight, digs her face into his shoulder. 

“It’s awfully good to see you,” Bitty says when they separate. “Looks like Paris was good to you.”

“Best year I ever spent,” Lardo replies. Being away from everyone for a whole year was hard – especially being away from Shitty - but her internship at the Musee d’Orsay was worth it. And she can hardly complain to Bitty about missing someone.

“Learn a lot of art?”

“I did.” 

Bitty shuffles the papers on his bed around, making a space, and waves for Lardo to sit. His desk chair is filled with clothes and books, as are all the other surfaces in his room, so there aren’t many options. It’s not like Bitty to be so messy, but Lardo isn’t about to comment on it. She makes herself comfortable, sitting cross-legged facing Bitty as he climbs back into bed.

“Final exam coming up?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. History of Labor Relations.” Bitty sighs. “There’s so much to remember.”

“Worried about passing?” There’s nothing as stressful as feeling like you might not graduate, she thinks, remembering back to the year before. She had put off her analytics requirement until senior year, which was a bad idea all around.

“No, in fact, I know I’ll pass.” A strange look passes across Bitty’s face. “I’ve actually got an A in this class, so far. My only A at Samwell. I just don’t want to screw it up.”

Lardo picks up one of the books on his bed, examines it, looks at the outline he’s got marked up with three different colored highlighters. “A history course, huh?”

“Jack recommended it. Said it was one of the best courses he had ever taken,” Bitty says in a tight voice.

“Well, he’d be proud of you.”

When she looks up, Bitty has tears in his eyes. 

“Bitty, I’m so sorry.”

He sniffles, and wipes his eyes. “Not your fault.”

“I know, but still.” 

He shrugs. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“Just keep going, Bits. Just like you’ve been doing. You’ve gotten through hard stuff before.”

“Yeah, but that’s with Jack to help me.” 

“You did plenty on your own before you met Jack. And as far as hockey is concerned, he just pushed you a little. You did it yourself. If you could learn to handle being checked, anything’s possible, right?”

Bitty frowns sadly. “This is a lot harder.” 

“Well, if there’s ever anything I can do, you’ll let me know, right?” She expects a chirp – clearly, there’s nothing she can do to bring Jack back, people have been working on that for months, to no avail. But she doesn’t get one.

“Maybe… help me study?”

They go over Bitty’s flash cards for an hour or so, and Lardo learns more than she ever thought she would about how labor unions used to be prohibited, the landmark court case settling the legality of unions, and early efforts to organize. It all happened much earlier than she had imagined. It’s not a struggle she had ever focused on before. 

Finally Bitty gives up, leaning back against the headboard with his eyes closed. “I don’t think I can do any more,” he says, his eyes closed. 

“You know it all backwards and forwards, Bits. You’ll do great.” Lardo gathers up the index cards and wraps a rubber band around them, then sets them on the floor along with his textbook.

“I hope so.” Bitty pries his eyes open and shuffles his papers together, slides them into a folder and drops it on the pile.

Lardo glances at her watch. It’s almost three in the morning. “Okay if I crash here?” She had figured she would stay over – should have asked sooner – but she doesn’t think Bitty will mind.

Bitty blinks up at her. “Of course.”

Lardo leaves to use the toilet and then returns to Bitty’s room. He’s curled up under the blankets, and she steps out of her shorts and carefully slips in behind him.

Bitty flips over, his eyes wide, and she almost laughs at his surprise. “Sorry, Bitty,” she says, trying to maintain some semblance of apology, “I guess I’m so used to bunking with Shitty, I didn’t even think…”

Bitty chokes out a laugh. “No, it’s fine.”

“I can go sleep on the couch.” She starts to get up, and Bitty pulls her back down.

“God, no, I would never do that to you.” Bitty leans his forehead against the pillow and draws in a deep breath. “It’s just been a long time since anyone’s been in here but me…”

“Oh, Bitty.” Lardo tugs at him until he’s snug against her, arm draped around her waist, head nestled in the crook of her neck. “I know I’m no substitute, but I do love you,” she says softly.

“Love you too, Lards.” 

She strokes his hair, holds him as he shivers and shakes, and lets him cry.


	6. One Hundred and Twenty-Five Days Since He's Seen Jack

Bitty makes it through the graduation ceremony and then excuses himself. He needs a few minutes back at the Haus before talking to any more people today. Even being with his mom and Coach for the past twenty-four hours has been harder than he could have thought. He’s not sure he can deal with one more understanding hug or sad-eyed congratulations. 

Bitty wanders from room to room, remembering. It’s impossible for him to stop thinking about graduation two years ago, when Jack burst into the Haus, short of breath, and changed his life. This would have been their two year anniversary, and the day when Bitty could finally join Jack in Providence to start their adult lives together. He had been looking forward to this moment for so long, not as the culmination of years of study, but as a beginning to the next stage of his life with Jack, one where he could curl up in bed with him every night and kiss him good morning each day. 

Bitty goes into his room and closes the door. It’s all packed up, just one suitcase left. Everything else is already in his new apartment. He sits down at the desk and sighs. He doesn’t want to do this without Jack, but he doesn’t have any choice. There’s only one way forward, and Jack wouldn’t want him giving up. No matter how cheesy it sounds in his own mind, he knows it is true.

Bitty’s parents had said they’d meet him in his room in an hour, so he’s surprised when he hears a voice calling his name only a few minutes after he gets to the Haus. He comes downstairs, and freezes when he sees Georgia. She’s got a strange look on her face, and is twisting the paper graduation program nervously in her hands.

“Hello, Eric.”

“George? You were at my graduation?”

She nods quickly. “Yes, sort of, for the last part.” She looks around the room, then goes over to the couch. “Can we sit down? I need to tell you something.”

Bitty’s heart speeds up so fast he thinks it might explode right out of him, and he stumbles over to sit next to Georgia. His hands are shaking and he thinks he might throw up. This is it, this is the news that he has been dreading. They know something about Jack. He prays they haven’t found his body.

“Eric, just listen for a minute, okay?” She pats his knee awkwardly and then stops, biting her lip.

“George, I love the heck out of you but if you don’t tell me quick, I’m not gonna make it.”

She meets his eyes, her gaze firm. “Jack called me last night.”

Bitty hears her, of course, but it’s as if she’s speaking a foreign language. “Wh- what?”

“He called me. It was him.”

“Oh my god – oh my god.” Bitty stands up, feels the blood rush right out of his head, and sits back down again. “Is he okay?”

Georgia takes both of his hands in hers, and holds them tight. “Breathe, Eric. I’ll tell you what I know. Just breathe.” 

He can’t breathe, he can’t even move, except for the shaking that has taken over his entire body. Jack’s alive? “This isn’t some kind of joke, is it? You- you wouldn’t do that to me?”

“Of course I wouldn’t. I’m sure it was him. I don’t have any proof or anything, but I know it was him.”

“George, where is he?” Bitty hears his voice rising, but he can’t help it. “I need to see him. I’ll go right now – where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

Bitty wants to scream at her, to demand that she tell him, but he can see in her face that she’s as confused as he is. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, then turns to face her again.

“Could you maybe tell me the whole conversation, from the beginning?”

George nods. “It was very short. He said he was sorry, but that we needed to stop looking for him.”

Bitty waits, but Georgia doesn’t continue. “That was it?”

“That was it. I don’t get it either, Eric. I tried to get him to talk to me, to tell me anything else, but he just repeated ‘I’m so sorry,’ and hung up.”

“Can’t you tell the police, or track the call, or something? There must be something…”

“His mother called me five minutes later, saying she had gotten the same call from him, but with a request to wire money to an account in Geneva. Jack told them that if they tried to contact him in any way, no one would ever hear from him again.”

Bitty grasps on to the end of her sentence. “So, he might contact them again, then? If they don’t bother him?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.” She looks down at the mangled graduation program in her hands. “I told Alicia I’d come today and tell you in person. It seemed like the least I could do.”

“Thank you,” Bitty says automatically.

Georgia shrugs. “Kind of a weird graduation present.”

“No – no. It’s not perfect but-” Bitty shudders out a long breath – “he’s alive. Jack’s alive, and he’s talking, and he’s apparently got his martyr complex going strong again and… he’s alive. It’s a wonderful graduation present.” Definitely not as good as Jack showing up in person with a bow around his neck, but compared to what Bitty expected to hear when he saw Georgia, it’s wonderful.


	7. One Hundred and Eighty Days Since He's Seen Jack

Over the next few months, Bitty’s initial determination to be grateful for the news about Jack slowly seeps away, replaced by a deep sadness. If Jack is alive but doesn’t want to see him, what does that mean about their relationship? Jack hadn’t even called him to say goodbye, apparently relying on Georgia and his parents to do it, if he even thought about him at all. Had Jack ever really cared about him?

Bitty knows this is just his demons speaking, and that while they were together, at least, Jack loved him. A few months ago, he would have bet anything on Jack’s love. But it is hard to keep believing that when faced with the facts in front of him: Jack is somewhere on the planet, sane and aware enough to ask his parents to send him money, but unwilling to even talk to Bitty. And why had it taken him so long to reach out?

In his better moments, he tells himself that there has to be a reason for Jack’s behavior, a good one, because Jack loved him too much to be so careless with his feelings. But for the life of him, he can’t make sense of it.

Bitty talks to Bob about his conversation with Jack, wondering if the request for money meant that this was a ransom situation after all, just one that was apparently going to go on for a really long time. Bob doesn’t think so, explaining that he had asked Jack their old safety question in Quebecois, and Jack had answered appropriately. It was a neat idea, Bitty thought, like a special code between them, but he still wasn’t sure he could believe it. He just didn’t know what to believe.

So Bitty settles in to his new apartment, and tries to get used to being alone. After graduation, Chowder comes to visit him for a few days, but then he leaves, too. Bitty had thought for a while that Chowder was going to get a summer job in Providence, just to keep an eye on him, but he put a stop to that. Bitty has to take care of himself. No one else can do it for him.

Bitty does wind up with a job, almost despite himself, writing for an online magazine. He writes mostly lifestyle and cooking features, including a column about cooking for twenty-somethings who are just starting out on their own. He thinks it’s ironic - he pens clever words about how to make cooking for one an adventure, but at home, he’s eating more ramen than a freshman at Samwell.

Shitty comes to visit one weekend in July, and looks at Bitty sadly. 

“What?” He had cleaned up the place pretty well, Bitty thought. Even did the dishes.

“Itty-Bitty,” he says, placing both his hands heavily on Bitty’s shoulders, “this is no way to live.”

Bitty looks around. The place is small, but in a cozy way. He’s got a little futon couch, a coffee table, and a not too ratty old armchair that was here when he moved in. His mom had sent curtains for the big window in the kitchen, yellow and blue stripes which go nicely with the light blue walls. His bedroom isn’t that exciting – pretty much exactly the same as it was at Samwell – but Shitty hasn’t even seen that yet.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Shitty gives him a dejected look. “Bitty – where’s the pie?”

Bitty practically does a double take, scanning the kitchen to see if perhaps this time, pies do just magically appear. They do not. Perhaps for the first time in the past seven or eight years, Bitty has invited a guest over and failed to bake for him. 

The look he gives Shitty must worry him, as Shitty quickly tries to backtrack. “Not that I expected pie or anything, Bitty, of course, you don’t have to make me pie. Maybe you’re in an ice cream mood? Want to go get some ice cream? I bet there’s lots of good places in Providence. Or froyo – you like froyo, right?”

Shitty pauses in his rant, the mention of froyo probably triggering yet another disturbed look on Bitty’s face.

Bitty sighs. “Relax, Shitty, you’re right. It’s weird that I didn’t make pie.” Bitty goes into the kitchen, opening up the fridge to see what’s inside. There’s butter, and probably enough fruit to make some kind of pie if he puts them all together, or maybe a crumble. Strawberries don’t need to be perfect to work in a pie.

“Hey, little bro,” Shitty comes over and closes the refrigerator, a hand on Bitty’s arm. “I’m sorry. I’m not here for thirty seconds and I’m already stressing you out. Sit down, will you?”

Bitty acquiesces, and perches on one of the stools at the narrow kitchen island. Shitty goes to his bag and pulls out a bottle of bourbon and a plastic container of mint from a grocery store. “Do you have sugar?” Bitty points to the cabinet, and Shitty takes out the bag.

“You’re gonna be so impressed with me. Last time I had to go to one of my uncle’s snobby parties, I hung out with the bartender all night. I asked him to teach me how to make something southern.”

Bitty watches as Shitty mangles the mint, sort of cutting it with a steak knife as he sprinkles it into two tall glasses he found in the dishwasher. “Shitty, you really don’t need to-”

“Nah-uh. Just wait.” Shitty pours a hefty dose of bourbon into each glass, spoons in a tablespoon or two of sugar, and stirs them each aggressively. He apparently didn’t get the part about the simple syrup.

He drops a few ice cubes into each glass, then pushes one across the table to Bitty. “Here you go,” he says, “A mint julep.”

Bitty takes a few sips and closes his eyes as the liquid slides down his throat. It isn’t long before he’s more relaxed than he’s been in ages.

“It’s not like I’d recommend this for every night, mind you,” Shitty says, as if Bitty couldn’t drink himself to sleep every night if he chose to. “But I thought it might make you smile.”

And he does, because he’s helpless against Shitty’s earnest efforts, and because the drink actually does make him think of home, even though he’d only ever had a few alcoholic beverages in his parents’ house. It’s something about the mint, he thinks. “It’s actually really good, Shitty. Thank you.”

Shitty smiles proudly, and sits down next to Bitty, an elbow propped on the island. “See? Knew I was good for something.”

“You’re good for lots of things, Shits. You’re a good friend.”

A wash of regret passes across Shitty’s face. Jack’s sort of reappearance hit Shitty hard, too. Like everyone else, he can’t understand why Jack won’t come home, or even talk to them. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

“You are. None of this mess is your fault.”

“I know, I just wish there was some fucking thing I could do about it.”

“There is. You are.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes sir. There is literally no drink in the world I would rather be having right now than this very mint julep.”

Shitty grinned. “But you probably noticed I screwed up the sugar, right? I didn’t think of it until I poured it in.”

“No reason to do it any other way,” Bitty reassures him. He takes another sip of the drink and chews on the long piece of mint that sticks in his teeth. “You know what would go really well with this, though?”

Shitty leans his head back, blinks his eyes innocently at Bitty, and responds. “No, what?”

“Pie.”

Two hours, many more mint juleps, and a strawberry-blueberry-hint-of-raspberry pie later, they are sitting on the couch, each laying against one end with their feet overlapping in the middle.

“You’re gonna be okay, Bitty. You’ll be all right. You just need to keep swimming.”

“I never took you for a Disney guy, Shits.”

“Pixar, my boy, Pixar. In fact, I could go for a movie right now.”

Bitty isn’t paying too much attention to their movie selection, he just slides around on the couch until they are both facing the same direction, his laptop on the coffee table. Shitty picks another one of his Pixar favorites, and Bitty dozes as _The Incredibles_ starts to play. Suddenly he realizes Shitty is sniffling, and he turns to look at him, astonished.

“I didn’t pick it on purpose,” he says, quickly wiping his eyes. “I didn’t even realize.”

It takes Bitty a minute, but then the plot comes back to him. Mr. Incredible – Bob – has to fight to save his family, including baby Jack-Jack, who has been kidnapped by an evil villain.

“Oh my,” Bitty says, reaching to pause the movie. “That’s… that’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Shitty sits up, looking a little bit dazed. 

“I’d really like a happy ending right about now,” Bitty says, closing the laptop. “Even Pixar believes in happy endings, right?”

Shitty squares his shoulders and gives Bitty a challenging look. “Story’s not over yet, Bitty. I don’t even need Johnson to tell me that.”

“You think Jack will come around?” Bitty asks softly. He can’t count the number of times he’s asked himself this. 

“I don’t know, Bits. But our boy’s obviously struggling with something. If he wasn’t, he never would have called George. We’ve got to trust that he’ll come out on top. He did it before – he can do it again.”

“Do you really think so?” 

Shitty runs a hand through his hair and nods firmly. “I do. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and – I think that’s the best way to get through this, for me, anyway. I’m gonna trust that Jack knows what he’s doing, and that he’s going to figure this out.”

That night, as the mint julep wears off and reality creeps back in, Bitty thinks about what Shitty had said. The boy he loves with all his heart is alive, and he’s out there somewhere struggling with god knows what. The least he can do is trust him. So that’s what he’s going to do.


	8. Two Hundred and Ten Days Since He's Seen Jack

Bitty is trying out his new attitude, making an effort to keep hope in his heart for Jack, instead of despair. His resolve is tested on Jack’s birthday, but he goes for a long walk down by the river, sets himself out a little picnic of apple/maple mini-pies and a PB&J tart he created for Jack on his last birthday, and lets himself lie in the sun with his eyes closed, imagining Jack lying there next to him.

In general, he thinks that his determination to take a more positive approach is working, at least if the number of pies he’s been baking is any indication. He only wishes he had someone to share them with. Chowder came to visit for a few days, but even a motivated hockey player can only eat so much pie in a forty-eight hour period.

Finally one mid-August afternoon he has an idea. He boxes up a fresh strawberry cream pie, two dozen thumbprint cookies with blackberry jam, and, of course, an apple pie with a maple sugar crust, and heads down the street. 

Lily’s is open, of course, and as busy as ever. It’s just a few blocks from Jack’s old apartment. Bitty and Jack had spent numerous mornings and afternoons chatting over cups of coffee and Lily’s special red bean filled donuts (beans have protein, Bitty teasingly informed Jack one day, so these donuts were good for them). Bitty hasn’t been in since January, when he and Jack had one last cup of coffee before Bitty headed back to Samwell for his last semester.

Lily herself is at the counter when Bitty comes in, and when she spots him through the crowd she raises her eyebrows and smiles. Her jet black hair has even more gray in it than it did the last time Bitty saw her, but her green eyes flash happily at him as she finishes up with her customer. An employee Bitty doesn’t recognize takes over the register and Lily approaches him with open arms.

“Eric, I don’t believe it! How nice of you to visit! Sit down, let me get you some coffee.”

Bitty smiles back despite himself, and holds out his boxes. “These are for you.”

Lily sets them down on a back counter and waves Bitty over. “Come here, it’s too crowded out front. Offer to toss some ice cubes and a bit of sweet cream into coffee, and suddenly everyone wants one. It’s like they all forgot how to make it themselves.”

“Yours is just better, Lil.”

“You sweetheart, how I missed your charming face!” She glances behind him, and Bitty realizes she is probably looking for Jack, but somehow wisely doesn’t say anything. “So,” she looks at the boxes curiously, “what did you bring me?”

Bitty opens up the top one and shows her.

“Oh, Eric, it’s that one with the maple sugar, isn’t it?” Lily doesn’t hesitate before breaking off a piece of the crust. She practically moans as she chews. “Still as heavenly as ever.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“I do love a polite young man,” she says, pulling over two wooden chairs for them to sit in. “Especially one who bakes me pie. So tell me, Eric, what brings you to Providence? Even my own daughter never visits without a reason. Here for a hockey game?”

“I live here now, actually. Moved here after I graduated in May.”

Lily accepts this – she doesn’t know him well enough to ask why, if he lives here, he hasn’t been in the store. She’s a polite woman. “Well, I’m awfully glad to see you.” She fills him in on various store gossip – her son is still working with her, but he’s off today, they’ve got a crew of new counter staff, and their head baker is as overworked as ever. “He’s especially grumpy lately because Mariana quit. You know how much he liked Mariana.”

“She never wasted any flour,” Bitty says, remembering the high praise Aldo bestowed on his assistant. He draws in a long breath as Lily goes on, not even realizing the opening she has given Bitty.

“Lily?”

“Hm? Yes?”

“Please believe me when I say I didn’t actually stop by just to ask you this, but – is there any chance y’all are looking to replace Mariana?”

Lily’s expression turns serious. “You need a job, Eric? Are you okay?”

“No – I mean yes, I’m okay, and I have a job, but…” He’s not sure how to put it into words. He doesn’t want Lily to think he’s desperate; it isn’t a lack of money that prompted his question. 

But she seems to get it. “Jobs for new college graduates aren’t always that rewarding, are they?”

“It wouldn’t have to be full time or anything, I’d just love to do something real. To bake for people. I miss it like crazy.” He tries not to sound too lonely.

“Oh, you dear boy.” Lily looks at him thoughtfully, closes her eyes for a moment as if she’s looking at a schedule in her head. “Aldo could use your help two or three days a week. You’d get to bake, but it would be early. Are you sure you’d be okay with that? Waking up when it’s pitch black outside isn’t for everyone.”

Bitty thinks back to when Jack used to wake him up before the sun, helping him learn how to handle being checked. Saving him from being kicked off the team. It was a gift he could never put a price on. “Maybe not. But for some things, it’s worth it.”


	9. Two Hundred and Sixty Days Since He's Seen Jack

It’s October, and Bitty has taken to wearing his winter coat when he leaves his apartment at 4:00 a.m. and scurries down the road to the bakery. It’s just two blocks down his side street, then around the corner and two more to where Lily’s is located, but it is always so very, very deserted. And dark. 

Bitty has called the city twice now to complain about the two burned out streetlights on his own block, and this morning he notices that a third one has gone out. He tries not to think about the old debate the SMH guys used to have – rats or a stranger – he really doesn’t want to encounter either one as he speed walks down the street. Usually it doesn’t bother him, he just puts in his earbuds and looks forward to getting to the nice, warm bakery, where Aldo usually has a fragrant pot of coffee already brewing. This morning, however, he’s skittish, jumping at every gust of wind.

His momentary discomfort fades as he pushes at the front door, the jingling bells announcing his arrival. Aldo always leaves it open for him, then he locks it behind him, and they get to work, opening it up again at 6:30 for the dog walkers and other early risers.

Aldo’s already got some muffins in the oven, and he smiles sleepily at Bitty. He’s not much for small talk, but in about an hour, when they are at their busiest – baked goods in all states of progress and trays coming in and out of the oven at a rapid fire pace – he likes to sing. Arias, Bitty thinks, bits and pieces of opera, mostly in Italian. Bitty loves it.

Working at the bakery has been good for him. He can still do his work for the magazine, but it doesn’t seem so dreary anymore. He’s even gotten some new ideas from his co-workers and customers, quizzing them on their baking habits and favorite meals to cook when they’re on their own. It frankly surprises Bitty how many people are cooking for one, and eager to share the little tips they’ve come up with to make their meals more fun than just another slice of leftover pizza.

And what Bitty had said to Lily back in August was true – he really had missed baking for people. He hadn’t realized how much it had changed him, living alone, without a Haus full of appreciative hockey boys. It wasn’t just Jack he was missing, it was the simple pleasure of sharing a meal, or a treat, with another person. 

Of course, he still misses Jack something fierce. It isn’t going away, that ache. But it no longer feels like it is consuming him. He can breathe.

A few weeks go by, and then it happens again – on his way to work, in the pitch black early morning, Bitty gets a chill that has nothing to do with the October weather. He speeds up his pace, bursts into the bakery out of breath, and tries to calm himself down. There is never anyone on the street, and there wasn’t anyone there this morning, either. He has to just relax.

Bitty stops listening to music on his way to work. He wants to be able to hear what’s going on around him. He thinks about buying a whistle, or some mace. He finds himself clicking on Buzzfeed articles about self-defense, staying up late wondering if he should be telling someone about this. He even calls Shitty, but then chickens out. He’s not some wilting flower that needs an escort to walk four blocks in a decent city neighborhood. 

He tries taking a different route to work one day. This is obviously illogical, since it increases the distance of his walk by about six blocks, but it means he doesn’t have to walk past the abandoned restaurant supply store on the corner that always looks so ominous. He takes his new route again the next day, and decides he’ll stick with it for a while. 

But the next time he heads out, it’s raining. Not a sweet summer rain, mind you, but a bitterly cold New England fall rain, rain that is just this side of freezing. Six extra blocks is not in the cards.

He’s got his hat on and his hood up over it, but he swears he hears footsteps behind him, a pattern that the rain doesn’t obscure. But then there’s a crack of lightning and Bitty stops wondering and just starts running, making it to the bakery without looking back to see if anyone was actually there.

He gets back to his apartment just before noon, as usual, and goes to sleep for an hour. When he wakes up, he picks up his phone from his nightstand, and sees a text.

**Don’t go out alone at night. It’s not safe.**

Bitty’s pulse starts to race. The author is unidentified. Someone is watching him. He runs to his front door and checks to make sure that it is locked. Then, with shaking fingers, he types out a response.

**Who is this? Why are you following me?**

**Bitty, please. It’s not safe.**

“Oh my god,” Bitty says out loud, sinking to the floor. “Oh my god, it’s Jack. It’s Jack.” Bitty immediately presses the number, calling him, desperate to hear his voice. But he doesn’t pick up. Bitty calls back again, but there’s still no answer. He shoots off a string of texts, begging Jack to talk to him, but Jack doesn’t type another word. 

Bitty cries. He can’t handle this. He was finally doing better, finally able to breathe without thinking about Jack on every exhale, and now Jack is sending him spiraling down again. “Please Jack, please just tell me you’re okay,” he texts, tears blurring his vision. Nothing.

Then Bitty breaks.

**“Fuck off, then,”** he texts. **“Leave me alone.”**

He storms into the kitchen, finds the bottle of bourbon he keeps in the back of the refrigerator for surprise visits from Shitty, and, for the first time in his life, gets rip-roaring drunk all by himself.

When he wakes up again, it’s dark. Bitty is deeply confused, and profoundly hung over. It comes back to him as he stumbles to the bathroom for some aspirin, and he nearly trips over himself to find his phone and check his texts. But there’s nothing new from Jack (it has to be Jack, he tells himself, it has to be Jack), just Bitty’s string of increasingly pathetic entreaties, ending with what has to be the rudest thing he has ever said in a text, or to his boyfriend, or to anyone.

Bitty sinks down on to his couch, resting his throbbing head on his knees. The first time he’s talked to the love of his life in nine months, the boy who has been going through god knows what awful things, and Bitty tells him to fuck off. He simply can’t process it. He leaves Lily a voice mail letting him know he’s not coming in the next morning, and goes back to bed.

The next day, Bitty wakes up, makes himself some eggs, and writes two columns on special occasion food for small parties. They’ll work well for the holiday editions. He’s gotten behind in his writing the past few days, and he needs to focus on something besides whatever the hell just happened with Jack. 

Late that afternoon, he takes a train up to Boston, and meets Lardo and Shitty in a touristy bar in the North End. He won’t let Shitty buy him a beer, head aching just at the thought of it, but eagerly helps them finish off a basket of onion rings and some jalapeño poppers. Their pizza is on its way when he pulls his phone out of his pocket, clicks on the string of texts, and hands it to Lardo.

She and Shitty read it at the same time, their jaws literally dropping in unison, as if they were choreographed.

“What do I do?” Bitty asks, and their heads swerve to look at him.

“Holy fuck,” Shitty says, and Lardo nods. 

“Same.”

“Really, guys, what do I do?”

Shitty shakes his head. “This is some heavy stuff, here. Jacky boy’s in Providence, hanging out on dark street corners in the middle of the goddamn night, watching over you?”

“It’s kind of creepy,” Lardo says. 

“Nah, it’s sweet.” Shitty looks at Lardo, who raises an eyebrow at him, then back at Bitty. “Creepy-sweet?”

“Why on earth won’t he just come home?” Bitty says, exasperation and anger bubbling up inside him again. “I don’t understand. I’m right there, he knows where I am, he knows I’m all by myself… why won’t he come home?”

“Oh, itty-Bitty, do not despair.” Shitty puts an arm around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him abruptly against his chest. “He is coming home. He is. He’s just doing it in his own unique, purely Jack way.”


	10. Two Hundred and Sixty-Four Days Since He's Seen Jack

Bitty crashes at Lardo’s, then takes the train home the next morning. Still no text from Jack. 

When his alarm wakes him at 3:45 am, he wonders if Jack will be out there, waiting on the street for him. Does Jack walk behind him, as Bitty scurries to work? Or is he in one of the buildings, watching out a window? Maybe he put a nanny cam up somewhere?

Bitty takes the long route tonight, and everything seems quiet. It’s not even as cold as the past week has been, a little warm spell just to tease before winter truly sets in. At Lily’s he rolls out dough while Aldo sings. There’s space for him to think, and so he does. Bitty’s angry with Jack, angry at him for leaving him, for staying away, for not being there for him for so long. For reaching out and then leaving him hanging, alone again. 

But he can’t stay angry at Jack, not for this. Because he still doesn’t know what’s happened. What if Jack is trapped somewhere, and only had a moment to use a phone to text Bitty? What if he really couldn’t do anything more than what he’s done? 

Bitty may be lonely, but he’s not truly alone. He’s got Shitty and Lardo, and Skype sessions with Chowder, and occasional forays into the SMH group chat. He’s got Lily and Aldo and everyone at the bakery. He’s got his parents, who still call him every Sunday, even if they sometimes forget that he’s often at work. 

But Jack? Jack could truly be all alone. 

That night, Bitty pulls on Jack’s old Samwell sweatshirt and climbs into bed. He re-reads the chain of texts, and carefully drafts a new message.

**Jack? Is the longer route safer?**

It’s only a few minutes before there’s a response.

**Yes.**

Bitty’s whole body shivers with adrenaline when he sees the return text. It’s Jack, he knows it is. He can’t help but respond when Bitty asks him about the very thing that made him reach out in the first place, that let him break through the silence. Whatever is keeping him away, Bitty’s safety is still more important to him.

**Thank you for telling me, sweetheart.**

There’s no answer this time, but it’s okay. His Jack is out there. He’s still struggling, but Bitty hopes he’s getting closer to winning the battle. And Bitty is on his side.

Bitty doesn’t get any more texts from Jack for the next few days. He tries several different approaches, various chatty comments, but none of them seem to pull a response from Jack. 

One afternoon he walks home from the bakery a little later than usual, and pays careful attention to the buildings along the way. The restaurant supply shop with its boarded over windows still gives him the creeps – and it’s on the corner that he avoids by taking the longer route. That night, he tries Jack again.

**Is it the supply shop on the corner that worries you?**

**Yes. Stay away.**

**Can you tell me why?**

No response.

Bitty wishes he knew more about what was going on, whether there was a drug ring hiding out in the shop, or danger of falling bricks, or what, but apparently Jack isn’t going to share. Bitty’s tired, and needs to get to sleep. He curls himself around his phone and sends one more text.

**Good night, Jack.**

**Good night, Bits.**

If he cries a little to himself, looking at the words on the screen, no one is the wiser except Señor Bun.


	11. Two Hundred and Eighty Days Since He's Seen Jack

Weeks go by. It’s November, the days are dark and cold, and Jack still hasn’t told Bitty anything useful. Most times, he doesn’t answer Bitty’s texts at all, and only if they have something to do with Bitty’s safety. He’s getting tired of it.

One night he decides to bite the bullet.

**Jack, can I please see you? I want to talk to you.**

Nothing.

**Whatever’s going on, Jack, please, let’s talk. I miss you so much.**

Nothing. But then, hours later, there’s a response.

**I miss you too.**

**Then why can’t we see each other? Are you okay? Let me help.**

**It’s complicated, but it can’t happen.**

Bitty groans in frustration. No one ever said Jack Zimmermann wasn’t stubborn. He tries a few more times, hoping eventually Jack will give in, but a few days later he gets a message that makes his stomach sink.

**I can’t do this anymore, Bitty. Take care of yourself.**

It sounds final, Bitty thinks. It sounds like goodbye. Bitty spends a day in bed, aggressively listening to indie music (he blames Lardo) and feeling sorry for himself, but it doesn’t do any good. Neither does texting Jack – he won’t respond to anything Bitty says. Not even questions about the shady shop on the corner, or whether the shorter route is safe in the daytime. Nothing.

He finally drags himself out of bed, takes a shower, and puts on his favorite teal green button-up shirt. Then he goes to the grocery store for supplies, and starts baking.

“Shitty, this boy is going to make me lose my mind. I don’t know what to do,” Bitty says, holding the phone to his ear with one hand while stirring cake batter with the other. It’s Lily’s birthday tomorrow, and he’s making her a caramel cake. She’s never had one before.

“I could come down, spend a few days with you. Walk back and forth along the forbidden path, see if it forces our beaut of a friend to get off his fine ass and show up.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea, Shitty.”

“Sorry brah, it’s all I’ve got.”

It is a terrible idea, but it lodges itself in Bitty’s brain. What if he started taking the short route again at night, the one that Jack is so firmly set against? Would that make Jack start talking to him again? 

He thinks about it for a few days. Even if it works, it’s kind of manipulative, and he’s not sure he wants to act that way. But when he gets right down to it, he feels pretty manipulated by Jack. Is Jack just going to watch over him like a grumpy guardian angel for the rest of Bitty’s life, without even providing an explanation of what made him disappear? 

It’s snowing one night when he goes to sleep, and when he wakes up in the dark to head to the bakery, the snow has turned to sleet. It’s a perfect reason to take the shorter route. Bitty pulls on his winter coat, adds a hat and gloves, and goes outside.

The sidewalk is slippery, and despite his plan to keep an eye out for Jack or anyone else, he winds up planting his eyes firmly on the street in front of him, trying not to fall. He’s just about to round the corner when he hears a voice.

“What’s the rush, little one?” a man says, appearing out of the shadows. “Got something for me?”

Bitty understands two things at the exact same time. One, this was a stupid idea. And two, he’s about to get checked.

The stranger gives him a shove and he falls to the wet sidewalk. Bitty buries his face in his hands, curling his knees to his stomach, and waits for the kick. But it doesn’t come. Instead, he hears the man cry out, scrambling footsteps, and then silence.

Bitty opens his eyes and looks up. The man is gone, and standing in front of him, blue eyes staring out from under a hood pulled low over his forehead, is Jack Zimmermann.

“Bitty,” he says, his voice rough, “are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Bitty says, heart racing. “He didn’t hurt me.”

Jack crouches down and holds out a gloved hand. Bitty takes it and lets Jack pull him up, but before he can wrap his arms around him, Jack lets go and steps back. He’s wearing a black leather jacket over a black hoodie, and he holds himself as if he’s afraid he’s going to break apart.

Bitty steps forward, trying to get a look at Jack’s face, but Jack just retreats further, shaking his head. “Don’t…” 

“Jack, what’s going on?”

Jack looks around, towards the corner and then back towards Bitty’s apartment. His eyes are wide and scared. “Are you still going to work, or do you want to go back home?” 

There’s no way Jack will come in to the bakery with him, Bitty thinks, and all he wants right now is as many minutes with Jack as he can get. “Back home, I think. Will you, um, walk me there?”

Jack gives a stiff nod, and starts off towards Bitty’s place. He stops after a few feet, looking back to see if Bitty is coming. 

Fine, Bitty thinks, don’t take my arm like a gentleman. See if your mama forgives you for that.

They walk the two blocks awkwardly, Bitty trailing a step behind Jack, not wanting to provoke him into changing his mind. It sort of reminds him of when Jack first made him get up early to practice checking, when Bitty would follow Jack across the campus to the rink, trying and failing to get Jack to respond to Bitty’s attempts at small talk.

He watches Jack walk – he doesn’t seem injured at all, or different in any way. There’s no clue, yet, as to what happened to him. 

When they get to his place, Bitty unlocks the door, and steps inside. He waves his hand at Jack. “Come on in, I’m just upstairs. You must be freezing.”

Jack seems to startle in response, but shakes his head. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Jack,” Bitty steps towards him, arms out, but Jack retreats again. 

“I’m sorry, Bitty. I’m so sorry.”

And then Jack is gone. Bitty doesn’t even see which way he went. His eyes fill with tears, and he drags himself up the stairs. He thought for sure that Jack was going to come inside, that they would finally sit down together, that he could wrap his arms around his beautiful man and promise to help fix whatever is troubling him. 

Bitty doesn’t understand why he didn’t get the emotional reunion he had been fantasizing about. Jack had been the most tactile of boyfriends, always wanting to be near Bitty, to touch him and hold him. It had been hard before they came out, Jack always looking at him with that fond smile on his face, doing his best not to give it away, to keep his kisses limited to private places. But once the Samwell team knew, and then the Falcs, and then the world – there was no stopping Jack. Bitty could still feel his hand on his cheek, or on the small of his back, his long fingers wrapping around his waist.

And yet, even when Bitty had been knocked to the ground, there was no comforting hug to be had. Not even after being apart for almost a year. No matter how angry he wants to be at Jack, he can’t help but think that something is very, very wrong.

Throughout this whole mess, whenever Bitty needed to talk through his feelings about Jack, he called Shitty. But somehow, what has just happened seems too private to share. No, the only one he can talk about this with is Jack.

He spends the day thinking through his plan, even writing out different variations of what he wants to say. Finally it’s almost midnight and he can’t stay awake worrying about it anymore, so he goes ahead and sends Jack a text.

**Thank you for being there for me last night.**

Jack responds quickly, and Bitty breathes a sigh of relief. Step one – contact – accomplished.

**You’re welcome. But please don’t do that again.**

Bitty starts to write back, and then throws his plan to the wind. Jack has given him an opening, and he has to take it.

**I promise I’ll never walk past that place at night again. But only if you come see me. In my house, in person.**

There’s no answer, and Bitty rapidly keeps typing.

**You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. You don’t have to say anything at all. I just need you here. Just for a little while.**

**You don’t know what you’re asking for.**

Bitty huffs as he types back. **I believe I do, Mr. Zimmermann.** He holds his breath. He can feel it, he knows what Jack is going to say next. He knows Jack.

**Fine. Tomorrow night, at nine o’clock. I’ll be there.**

Bitty jumps up from the couch and does a little dance, squealing with happiness, then quickly types out a response. **I’m gonna hold you to that. Don’t be late.**

**Good night, Bitty.**

Bitty can hear Jack’s voice in his head, fondly chirping him for staying up too late. **Good night, Jack.**


	12. Reset the Clock

Bitty stops in at Lily’s the next day. She looks at him with concern when he explains that he needs to take a few days off from work – he wants to focus on whatever is going on with Jack right now; there’s no room in his brain for anything else, although he doesn’t share these details with Lily. Reluctantly, he does tells her about the attack, and she calls the police. 

They aren’t impressed with the fact that Bitty didn’t inform them right away, or that he can’t tell them much about the stranger that came to his aid and then ran off. Bitty has no qualms, however, about keeping Jack’s identity secret. Clearly, they do not need to know that the world’s most famous missing hockey player has appeared in Providence and is moonlighting as a vigilante.

Bitty has a feeling that the police won’t find his attacker living in the abandoned restaurant supply store. After the confrontation with Jack, he doubts the man will stick around. A lieutenant calls him later that day and confirms – there’s no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. It makes no difference to Bitty; Jack said it wasn’t safe, and he was right. Bitty doesn’t need any further proof.

Bitty goes home and forces himself to do some work. He writes a draft of his next column, answers some emails from his supervisor, and generally tries to distract himself. By mid-afternoon, he has retreated to the kitchen, where he makes the prettiest apple pie with a maple sugar crust ever known to man. He calls his mom, just to listen to her speak, and to fortify himself with her good nature and easy going charm. 

He even tries to take a nap – his sleep schedule is always messed up these days, with so many early mornings at the bakery; a mid-afternoon nap generally helps. But today he can’t fall asleep. He putters around the house, does his laundry, and generally drives himself crazy getting ready for Jack’s visit. Most of all, he tries not to think about what he’ll do if Jack doesn’t show up.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to cross that bridge. At nine o’clock on the dot, he hears the buzzer. Bitty runs downstairs and opens the door, praying that it isn’t just some inconveniently timed delivery. It’s not.

“Jack,” he breathes out, “you’re here. Come in, come in.” He backs up so that Jack can come inside, then practically bounds up the stairs to his apartment, where he hadn’t even bothered to close the door. Jack follows him inside, then stands awkwardly in the entryway, staring at his shoes.

Bitty follows his gaze, and he sees Jack is wearing the running shoes that were missing from his apartment back in January. They don’t look quite as new as the last time Bitty saw them.

Bitty tries to catch Jack’s eye, but all he gets is a fleeting glance, shy eyes over cheekbones that seem even sharper than Bitty remembers.

“Jack? Can I take your coat?” He’s wearing the same black leather jacket over black hoodie combination he had on the other night, the hood still pulled down low over his face, almost over his eyes.

“No, thank you,” Jack replies.

Okay, fine, Bitty thinks. As if he needed any further evidence that Jack was nervous as hell.

“Come on, now, make yourself at home.” Bitty reaches for Jack’s arm, but he flinches. Bitty tries not to notice how this makes his stomach ache, just steps back into the living room and sits down on the futon couch. 

Jack follows him, and after looking quickly around the small room, sits down gingerly on the chair. He keeps his gloves on.

Bitty rambles on about how the armchair isn’t the most stylish thing he’s ever seen, but it is definitely comfortable, and nowhere near as ratty as that old green couch in the Haus, do you remember that awful thing, Jack? – and then realizes what he’s doing. He stops, and lets out a long breath. He’s nervous, too.

“It’s really good to see you,” Bitty says softly. Even if you look pale as a ghost, it is the most wonderful thing in the world to see you, he thinks.

Jack’s eyes flicker up to his, and then away. “It’s good to see you too,” he says, as if fortunate to have gotten permission for one quick look.

Bitty searches for the right thing to say. He wants to reach out to Jack, to touch him, but given his posture – hunched over on himself, hands clutched together – he knows that won’t work right now. He’s got to talk about something that won’t make Jack flee, that helps him feel closer to the world again without getting scared off.

“I talk to Shitty a lot, and Lardo. They’re doing really well.”

Jack looks up, guardedly interested. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know Shitty’s in his third year of law school now, and he gets to take all kinds of neat stuff. He’s in one course about legal policy related to issues of gender violence, and another one called the Art of Social Change where they learn about how to make change happen. He can’t stop talking about it.”

“That’s good.”

Bitty refrains from saying “so please give Shitty a call, because he misses you like crazy, too” and goes on with less fraught topics. “Lardo’s working in an art gallery part-time, painting as much as she can. She actually gave me one of her pieces for graduation – see?” He points to a small painting that hangs on the wall, a swirl of dark colors with a hint of light within them. Lardo never said what it meant to her, but Bitty thinks he knows. It’s how he’s felt these past months, wondering if Jack would ever come back to him.

“I like it.” Jack worries his hands together, then looks at Bitty apologetically. “I’m sorry I missed your graduation.”

“It’s okay.” Bitty wonders if he should say anything about Georgia’s visit. “You were kind of there, though.”

Jack looks at him, confused.

“Georgia came. She told me you called.”

“That’s hardly the same.”

“Jack, up until then, I didn’t even know if you were alive. I was really glad to know you were. Kind of a great graduation present, actually.”

Bitty thinks Jack almost smiles at this, although it fades so quickly he can’t be sure.

“Was, um, was school okay?”

Bless his heart, Bitty thinks, the poor boy is really trying. “Yeah, it all worked out fine. I mean, it was hard to concentrate that last semester, but my grades didn’t change too much. I actually got an A for the first time.”

“Yeah?” Jack really does smile now, tentatively, but it’s there. “In what?”

“History of Labor Relations.”

Jack nods. “Good work.”

“That reminds me - hang on a second, I’ll be right back.” He dashes into his bedroom and grabs the book he had set aside earlier, _Holding the Line_ by Barbara Kingsolver, and brings it back into the main room. The title had caught his eye at first because he thought it had something to do with hockey, which turned out, of course, to be completely wrong.

Jack looks up as he approaches, but Bitty doesn’t come too close, just sets the book in front of him on the coffee table and plants himself back on the couch. 

“I thought you might like to read it. It was one of the new optional readings for the course this year. I used it for my final paper.”

Jack picks the book up, studies the front and the back carefully.

“It’s about how an Arizona mine strike in 1983 transformed a town, when people worked together as a community. It’s the author’s first non-fiction book, and the language is just beautiful. Shitty read it too – it’s got a lot about how when the men were barred from picketing, the women in the town came to the picket lines. They were really brave.” Bitty knows he’s rambling. He wishes Jack would say something.

Jack opens the front cover. Bitty can tell when he sees the inscription Bitty wrote this afternoon. _To Jack, my inspiration._

Jack frowns, and begins to protest. “I’m not, Bitty. I’m no one’s inspiration. You’ve got to let this go.”

Bitty straightens and looks Jack in the eye. “Let what go? You? Not gonna happen, mister.” 

Jack seems uncomforted by this news, and Bitty’s heart breaks just a little bit more. 

There’s a heavy silence, and Bitty struggles not to just leap out of his seat and into Jack’s arms. Take it slow, he tells himself. 

“Well, where are my manners?” Bitty gets up and steps around the kitchen island, over to the counter where he has set out a tray with plates and silverware. “I made your favorite. I hope you still like it.” He carefully cuts a perfect slice of the apple pie for each of them. “Lily still can’t get enough of it. But she won’t let me give her the recipe, says it’s too special to share. I think it’s so I have to keep making them for her.”

Bitty turns around, tray in his hands – but Jack isn’t waiting patiently for pie. Instead he’s standing by the door, arms wrapped around his waist, shoulders curled in, head down. “Jack?”

“I can’t, Bitty. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Jack, please don’t go.” Bitty sets down the tray and takes a step closer to him, his hand out.

“No – don’t touch me.” Jack looks up at Bitty, his face stricken. “I’m sorry, Bitty, please…”

“Okay, it’s okay.” Bitty takes a marked step backwards. 

“It’s not.” Jack shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Jack, honey, stop apologizing,” Bitty says softly. He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure. “Jack?” He waits until Jack looks up, and catches his gaze. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I know none of it is your fault. I don’t blame you for anything.”

Jack just stares at him, and Bitty can tell his words aren’t making much of a difference.

“I don’t believe for a minute you would have disappeared on me like that if you had any choice. I don’t need to know the details of what happened to know you would never do anything to hurt me.” 

“I wouldn’t, Bits,” Jack says. “I would never hurt you.” He sounds like he’s about to cry.

“I know, Jack.” Bitty can feel the lump forming in his own throat, and he can’t hold the words back any longer. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Jack’s eyes widen, and then he backs up against the door, shaking his head. “No. You can’t. You don’t know-”

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter,” Bitty says, his voice strained. “I love you, Jack. I do. I always will.” He can’t help but take a step towards Jack, his whole body yearning to touch him, to take him in his arms and comfort him. It’s not even really a conscious act. Unfortunately, it’s a mistake.

Jack bolts out of the apartment and down the stairs so quickly Bitty hardly sees him go, but the thump of the downstairs door slamming shut confirms it.

Well, shit.

Bitty closes and locks his door, leaning his forehead against it for a moment before coming inside and sitting down on the couch. He pulls a throw blanket over his legs and lets himself cry for a few minutes. There’s no point in trying to hold it in anymore, Jack’s gone. 

Well. Look on the bright side, he tells himself when he calms down. Although the visit clearly could have gone better, he had – he checks the time on his phone - almost twenty minutes with Jack. And that’s twenty minutes more than he’s had in a very long time.

He can’t get Jack’s face out of his mind for the rest of the night. His expression of disbelief when Bitty told him he loved him was heartbreaking. How could Jack ever imagine that Bitty would stop loving him? Bitty doesn’t think it’s possible. But clearly Jack needs some more convincing. No time like the present.

**I love you,** Bitty texts. **I do.**

There’s no response, so he does it again. **I love you, I love you, I love you.**

He gets ready for bed, sending another text after he brushes his teeth, another after he washes his face, the same thing, over and over. **I love you.**

He’s under the covers, eyes closed, when his phone pings with a response.

**You can’t anymore.**

_This boy,_ Bitty thinks. He still doesn’t really understand how love works, does he?

**Jack, you realize saying that isn’t going to change anything.**

**You shouldn’t love me. I’m not worth it.**

**I beg to differ. I know you, Jack Zimmermann, and you are worth all the love in the world.**

**Not anymore.**

It’s exasperating, or it would be if Bitty thought Jack was playing games. But he knows he’s not.

**You forgot to take the book I gave you,** he responds. **Want to come over tomorrow night and get it?**

Bitty bites his lip, waiting. Come on, Jack, he thinks. You can do this. He’s just about to doze off when the reply comes.

**Okay.**


	13. Breakthrough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Jack tells Bitty what happened. See notes at the end for more information.

The next morning Bitty wakes up feeling more hopeful than he’s been in ages. He puts on Beyoncé as he makes breakfast, shaking his hips as he dances around his little kitchen. Maybe soon Jack will dance with him again. 

Dancing with Jack was nothing like he’d ever though it would be – at least, not when they were dancing together alone, in Jack’s apartment, or stealing a private moment together in Bitty’s room at the Haus. Jack liked to span Bitty’s waist with his hands, or cup his ass with his long fingers. He’d hold him close and kiss him until they were both breathless, and then return to dancing around as if nothing had happened. Bitty loved it.

Seeing Jack again makes him long to curl up against him and take refuge in his strong, beautiful man. Though Lord knows Jack isn’t feeling particularly strong right now, Bitty knows he is. Bitty just needs to help Jack see it.

After breakfast he spends some time at his laptop, writing the world’s most mundane column about the proper care of vegetables (if you wash them and then put them in the refrigerator, they don’t last as long as if you didn’t wash them). He sees an email from Shitty, and feels a pang of guilt.

Shitty picks up on the first ring.

“Little bro, what’s up? I’ve only got a few minutes before my study group, talk fast.”

“I saw Jack.”

Bitty immediately wishes he could see Shitty’s face - this conversation would have been extremely entertaining over Skype, but it’s too late now.

“Be more specific,” Shitty says slowly.

“Jack Zimmermann, you remember him?”

“Do not chirp me right now.”

“I’ve been texting him. I finally got him to come over. We talked for a little while.”

“Bitty-” Shitty sounds upset, and Bitty suddenly feels bad. Perhaps he could have handled this better.

“It’s okay, Shits. I really think he’s okay, or he’s gonna be. He’s really anxious, like on his worst days my freshman year, but he’s trying. He’s really trying.”

“Did he tell you what happened?”

“No. It was clearly bad, though. And whatever it is-”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t tell me, he’s got to tell me himself. Fuck, I wish I could see him. You think I could? Would you tell him I wanna talk to him?”

“Of course, Shitty. I actually talked to him about you. I told him about your courses this year, that one about social change, and the gender one.”

“Yeah? What’d he say?”

“Not much. But I think he was glad to hear about you, and Lardo.”

“Lardo, fuck – can I tell Lardo?”

“Yes, but Shitty – tell her when you’re alone, okay? Nobody else can know.”

There is silence for a moment, and he hears Shitty curse under his breath. “I won’t pull that kind of crap again, Bits. And I won’t confront him, or anything like that. You can trust me.”

“I know.”

“Ah, fuck, I’ve gotta go. But tell the beautiful motherfucker what I said, okay? Tell him I love him, and I can’t wait to see his gorgeous face.”

“I will.”

*****

That night, Jack arrives again at exactly nine o’clock. He looks embarrassed, almost, and shoots a shy smile at Bitty as Bitty waves him into the living room. And this time, miracle of miracles, Jack sits down on the couch, leaving a space for Bitty to sit next to him.

Bitty does, of course. His mama didn’t raise no fool.

Jack’s wearing the same thing he has been each time Bitty has seen him – black jacket over a black sweatshirt, hood pulled up over his head, and leather gloves. Bitty had briefly considered tempering his own wardrobe, but quickly decided against it, donning a bright yellow button down Jack had always liked. Jack may be dressing for some kind of biker funeral, but he isn’t about to give in to that. 

Bitty tells Jack about his job with the magazine, and the boring article he wrote this morning. Jack nods along, paying attention, relaxing enough to let his hands slip to the side, instead of clutched together in his lap.

When he tells Jack about his conversation with Shitty, Jack smiles. Bitty hopes Jack takes Shitty up on his offer to call him. Shitty may be a bit of a loose cannon, but he’s an awfully good friend.

“He misses you a lot,” Bitty says softly, and Jack nods. 

“I miss him too.”

Bitty shifts, trying to read Jack’s face. He looks so forlorn, pale skin pulling over his jutting cheekbones, eyes wide and sad, but he’s not running away. Jack’s gloved hand is on the couch between them, close enough to his own leg that Bitty can’t help but think it means something.

Slowly, gently, Bitty sets his hand down over Jack’s. His hand jerks, almost imperceptibly, but Jack doesn’t pull it away.

“Does it hurt, to be touched?” Bitty whispers, eyes locked on Jack’s face.

The pain on Jack’s face is evident, but he shakes his head. “Not the way you mean.” Jack looks like it’s taking everything he’s got not to bolt.

“Then why the gloves, and-” Bitty waves his hand at Jack’s head to toe cover-up. Bitty wonders if Jack was burned, if he’s covering up scars he’s afraid to show.

Jack doesn’t answer, just stares straight ahead.

Bitty takes Jack’s hand in his lap, and gently pulls off the glove, cradling Jack’s big hand in both of his own. His skin is cold, but otherwise his hand is just the same as it always was, long fingers, carefully filed nails, rough callouses here and there. It feels so good to hold his hand, Bitty doesn’t ever want to let go. But he glances up at Jack, and it looks like there are tears in his eyes.

Bitty can feel matching tears welling up in his own eyes, and he blinks hard, holding them back. Why does holding his hand make Jack cry? It’s almost too much to handle. “Jack?” he says softly. “You okay?” 

Jack nods stiffly, bending his fingers around Bitty’s.

“You’re really cold. Do you want some tea?”

Jack shakes his head. “Always cold. Can’t warm up.” He huffs out a bitter sound. “Can’t drink tea.”

Bitty can’t take it anymore. He has to be closer to Jack. And he’s pretty sure Jack wants to be closer, too.

“Come here,” Bitty says firmly.

Jack looks at Bitty, confused.

“Come on. Enough of this.” Bitty pulls at Jack’s arm and leans back on the couch. To his relief, Jack follows, maybe the muscle memory of the many times they lay together momentarily overcoming his fear. Bitty stretches out, leaning back against the arm of the couch, as Jack gingerly settles beside him, curling up against Bitty’s side, his long legs stretching down past Bitty’s feet.

Bitty wraps his arms around him, presses his nose into the hood still covering his hair, and squeezes him tight. “I’ve got you, Jack. Tell me what happened. I’m not letting go. It doesn’t matter what you say, I’m still gonna be here.”

“You’re not going to believe it.”

“Well, we’ll never know if you don’t tell me.”

Jack snorts against his shoulder, then quiets. Bitty rubs his back, the leather of Jack’s coat cracked and rough under his fingers.

“I went for a run that afternoon, after we talked,” Jack begins. “I didn’t even need to work out, I should have just taken a nap, rested up for the game. But I couldn’t sit still, so I went for a run.” 

The one and only thing that the police got right, Bitty thinks.

“I got distracted, not really paying attention to where I was going. It started to snow, and it was so beautiful – I stopped to look around, and couldn’t figure out which way was home. It was getting dark, and I had been out too long. I really needed to get back and get over to the rink. So I took out my phone to call a cab…”

“Then?” 

“Three guys appeared out of nowhere, wearing ski masks and hoods, and jumped me. One of them must have hit me pretty hard, because I passed out. The next thing I remember, I’m trying to wake up, but I feel terrible. I’ve never felt anything like it before, not even after my overdose… My whole body was just screaming in pain, but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. One of the guys shoved me, told me to be quiet, and go back to sleep. Eventually, I did – it hurt too much to move.”

Jack is shaking in Bitty’s arms, and he squeezes Jack harder, strokes the back of his hooded head.

“The next time I woke up I was hungry, so they fed me. They told me I was sick, and I had to stay there. I couldn’t leave even if I wanted to, they had me chained to the bed. I argued with them, and one of them hit me again. It went on and on, for a week or so. It didn’t make any sense.”

Bitty is shaking now too, and he clings to Jack as he continues.

“Every time I woke up, I felt horrible. I couldn’t think straight. When they let me sit up, I was so dizzy I almost couldn’t breathe. Then finally one day I woke up, and they were gone. The chains were off, and there was nothing holding me there anymore. It was a few more days before I felt well enough to leave. I didn’t even know where I was, it could have been anywhere. But when I finally went outside, things just got worse.”

Bitty thinks he might throw up. He can feel Jack’s chest rising and falling as he takes deep breaths, and Bitty holds him tight, tries to match his breathing to Jack’s.

“It hurt to be outside. It was still winter, but it felt like I was burning up anywhere the sun touched my skin. I couldn’t keep any food down. I thought I was dying.”

“Jack… how horrible… why didn’t you go to a hospital, or the police? Why didn’t you call me?”

Jack hesitates. “I knew something was really wrong. Vastly, monumentally wrong.”

“How?”

Jack shivers, then tightens his hands in Bitty’s shirt, as if he’s afraid that the next words he speaks will whisk him away. “Because the only thing they fed me, all that time, was their blood.”

Bitty’s brain stutters, stumbles over this piece of information. He feels his eyes begin to water. This is what Jack has been terrified to tell him. He thinks he’s a monster. His poor boy. He tries to put himself in Jack’s shoes, imagine how he must have been feeling. It’s overwhelming. He thinks he should say something comforting, something reassuring, you know, people consume blood all the time, it’s in meat, it’s no big deal, but then what pops out is -

“Well, that can’t have helped your anxiety any.”

Bitty can feel Jack freeze, his muscles tense, but before he can backtrack Jack is laughing. The sound is rough, as if it’s been a long time since he’s laughed, but familiar nonetheless. 

“Oh my god, Bitty, you have no idea.” Jack keeps laughing, shaking against him. He gets so carried away he nearly falls off the couch, and Bitty squawks and grabs him tighter. Finally Jack calms down, unwinds his arms from around Bitty’s back and props himself up on an elbow. 

Jack studies Bitty’s face, then reaches out and brushes a stray tear off Bitty’s cheek. His hand is cold, still, like he’s been at practice without his gloves on. 

Bitty reaches up and pushes Jack’s hood off his head. He runs his fingers through Jack’s hair; Jack’s eyes drift close, and he lets out a long sigh. “Bitty…”

“Sweetheart.” Bitty leans up, but just before his lips reach Jack’s, Jack pulls back. He doesn’t jump away, though, and there’s no look of panic on his face. Bitty smiles at him, and keeps a hand on his shoulder as Jack sits up.

“I should probably go,” Jack says, somewhat regretfully. He’s still got one black glove on, and one off. 

“If you must.”

“But I can, um,” Jack breaks off, looking pleadingly at Bitty.

“Come back tomorrow night? I hope so.”

“Okay.” Jack stands up, looming over Bitty for a moment, before Bitty joins him and walks him the short distance to the door. Jack pulls on his other glove, brings the hood back up over his head.

“Wait – don’t forget this again.” Bitty hands the history book to Jack. “Maybe you, me and Shitty can have our own little book group when you finish it.”

Jack’s lips tug up at one corner. “Maybe.”

“Good night, Jack.”

Jack turns towards the door, then back to Bitty. He shifts awkwardly, then holds his fist out for Bitty to bump it. “Good night, Bitty.” It’s ridiculous, but Bitty will take it. 

Not long afterwards, as Bitty is searching the web for any references to vampires that don’t sound completely fictional, he gets a text from Jack.

**Thank you, Bits.**

**For what?**

**For not calling the cops. Unless that’s what you’re doing now.**

**You dork. I’m not calling the cops, Jack.**

**And… for not running away screaming.**

**Never.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: During this chapter, Jack describes being attacked by three men who held him against his will and made him drink their blood.


	14. Where There's A Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: Jack drinks (cow) blood; there’s some further discussion of his attack.

The next day is a Saturday. Bitty wakes up early, too excited to sleep. He gives himself the day off from writing. He’s got other things he wants to do.

Before he begins, though, he sits down to text Jack. He’s feeling playful. 

**I love you, like the flower loves the rain.**

It’s a lyric from a song Jack likes, one that Bitty always used to get wrong on purpose just to tease Jack. He’d let Jack correct him, and then point out that anyone who knows the lyrics to songs from the ‘70s didn’t have any right chirping him about the words.

Jack doesn’t respond right away, but when he does, he’s right on point.

**I need you, Bittle. It’s I _need_ you like the flower needs the rain.**

Bitty types back quickly, a smile stretching his cheeks. **I need you too, sweetheart. Glad you figured that out.**

He can just see Jack groaning. A successful flirtation, if Bitty has ever seen one. He pats himself on the back and heads out to run his errands.

His first stop is the grocery store. In addition to his normal purchases of butter, eggs, and assorted fruit, he buys some onions, and oatmeal. He’s going to make English blood sausage – also known as black pudding - or at least that’s what he’s going to tell the butcher. He figures having the right ingredients already in his tote bag will make his performance more authentic.

Bitty stands in line at the butcher shop, patiently waiting as the women in front of him place their orders. He hangs back at one point, until he’s the only customer left in the shop, then steps up to the counter. Mario nods pleasantly at him.

“What’s it going to be today, Bitty? Making something adventurous for your readers?” Mario knows all about Bitty’s job, especially the task of coming up with interesting meals for singletons. He’s been very accommodating, letting Bitty buy small portions of even the most expensive meats.

“I’m thinking about an English Christmas theme,” Bitty explains. “This week I’m doing black pudding, and next week, maybe a roast duck.”

“A whole roast duck? Won’t that be too much food for one person?”

Bitty tends to agree with him – he hadn’t thought this one through. “I’ll explain how to portion it out and freeze it,” he improvises. “Everyone deserves a treat once in a while, and having a decadent home-cooked meal ready to go on a moment’s notice is a great way to treat yourself.”

Mario nods. “Very clever. I like the way you think. So, what can I get you today?”

Bitty takes out his phone and pulls up the recipe. His hands are shaking, and he quickly pockets the phone again, hoping Mario didn’t notice. “Um, I’m guessing you don’t have wild boar?”

Mario shakes his head. “Not today. Although if you want to wait a few days, I can order it for you.”

“No, that’s all right. So then how about a pound of sirloin, and, um, some blood.” Smooth, Bitty thinks, very smooth.

“Cow’s blood? How much?”

“The recipe said one litre, so…” Metrics had never been his strong suit.

“A liter is slightly over two pints.” Mario comes around the side of his counter, wiping his hands on the apron which drapes over his round stomach. “I know sometimes you like to make a recipe a few times, just in case it doesn’t work out the way you like it. How about you take five pints, that way you’ll have plenty?”

Bitty doesn’t really like the way the butcher is looking at him, but he swallows hard and nods. “Sure, that’s a good idea.”

Bitty shifts from foot to foot as he waits for Mario to box up his order.

“It freezes well, too,” Mario says.

“What?”

“The blood.” Mario casually puts plastic wrap around the pints of red liquid. It could be Chinese take-out soup in there, Bitty thinks, or sweet-and-sour sauce, just a little darker. “I’ve almost always got a good supply of it,” Mario continues. “Some different varieties, too.”

Bitty’s not sure what to say to this. “Okay.”

“And we’re open late on Wednesdays.”

“Um, that’s really good to know.”

“Gotta keep our customers happy.”

The door squeaks, and a woman comes in with two small children. Bitty hands Mario his credit card, and hopes the woman didn’t hear any of the conversation about blood varieties, and the ability to come by and pick some up after dark. It’s just too weird.

“Here you go, Bitty.” Mario gives him his card back, touching his hand deliberately as he does. It’s cold, and Bitty suddenly realizes that it probably isn’t just from taking meat out of the freezer case.

“Thank you, Mario.” Bitty’s on the way out the door when Mario calls to him.

“One more thing, Bitty – try it with a little rosemary and black pepper. Or even a touch of cinnamon.”

Bitty stares at him for a minute, then nods and gets out of there as fast as he can. 

Thinking about it later, in the privacy of his familiar little apartment, it makes sense. Being a butcher is a perfect occupation for a vampire. All the blood you want, and ready access to a freezer. He wonders how many other occupations work for people who have to stay out of the sun and are always cold. Hockey player rapidly comes to mind – except for the media attention, which kind of rules it out.

It’s ridiculous, really. How on earth did Bitty manage to discover two vampires in the space of two days? Was Providence some kind of vampire capital city? Did it rank with New Orleans and Washington State as a haven for the undead?

Stop it, he tells himself, Jack’s not dead, or undead, or anything like it. He shakes his head, trying to clear all the knowledge of fictional vampires out of his mind. Bitty doesn’t know that much about Jack’s condition yet, and he shouldn’t go jumping to conclusions. Maybe it’s just an iron deficiency that makes him need a diet high in foods with lots of iron – maybe spinach would work just as well. 

That afternoon he tries to take a nap, but he’s so full of nervous energy he can’t do it. He thinks about what Jack said, that he innocently went running the afternoon before that last home game, and wound up the victim of a mysterious attack. It definitely makes going to the gym seem like the safer option.

Bitty wonders if Jack’s parents know any more than they did back in May, when Jack called asking for money. He can’t tell them, though; he took a chance, telling Shitty that Jack was here, and that was as much for his own mental health as anything else. He’s not going to tell anyone else without talking to Jack. But hopefully now that Jack has opened up to Bitty, he’ll feel more comfortable letting other people know he’s okay, even if he doesn’t tell them about the whole blood thing. 

The list of things he needs to talk about with Jack keeps getting longer, as he lies in bed, tossing and turning. He considers making an actual list, but then remembers that episode in Friends where Ross made the list about the two girls he was interested in… it didn’t go well. Probably better not to let Jack know all of the concerns swirling around in his head. If Bitty has his way, they’ll have all the time in the world to discuss them. 

It’s fully dark by five o’clock, and Bitty wishes he had told Jack to come over earlier. He’s tired of waiting. By the time the buzzer rings at nine, he’s dozing on the couch, his laptop a warm weight on his chest.

“Hi,” Bitty greets Jack at the door. “Come on in.”

Jack steps in side, then hesitates for a moment, before shrugging out of his jacket. Bitty tries not to cheer. “Here, let me hang that up for you.”

He slides it on to a hanger in his small front closet, noting as he does that the leather is cool; it hasn’t been warmed by Jack’s body, as one would expect. 

Jack stands nervously next to Bitty, his hands in his pockets of his hoodie. “You look good,” Jack says shyly.

Bitty preens. He’s wearing a dark purple v-neck sweater in a soft cashmere, a Christmas present from Jack last year. He had only gotten to wear it for Jack once before. “Thank you.” Bitty reaches up and gently slides the hood off Jack’s head, watching his face carefully as he does. “So do you.”

Jack seems to accept this for a moment, then turns away. “I look weird.”

“You do not.”

“Sickly. Pale.”

“You were always pale. Professional ice hockey isn’t generally played in the sunshine.”

Jack shrugs. Bitty watches him as he sits down on the couch. He does look different. He noticed the skin tone and pronounced cheekbones before, but he thinks Jack must have lost weight all over. The sweatshirt hangs a little on him, instead of pulling across his broad shoulders. He probably doesn’t have a reason to work out anymore. Or maybe he’s not getting enough nutrition.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right there.”

Bitty goes into the kitchen and checks his two saucepans. He pours each into a mug, adds a few sprigs of rosemary, and a hint of pepper, and walks back towards Jack.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” He sets the mugs down on the coffee table, then perches cross-legged on the couch next to Jack.

“What – what is this?” 

Bitty puts a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry. Take a deep breath.” Jack’s eyes find his, wide and panicked. “Breathe.” Jack does, once, twice, three times, then looks back at the table.

“I’ve got beef broth, and you’ve got cow’s blood. Both seasoned with rosemary and pepper. Mario’s suggestion.”

“Mario?”

“My butcher. I don’t think he bought my English black pudding story. But he was very nice about it.”

“Bitty-” Jack is tensing, starting to stand, and Bitty’s afraid he’s about to run out of his apartment again. He curses himself for screwing this up.

“Jack, sit down,” he says firmly. “This is not a problem. I didn’t tell him anything, and he doesn’t know anything. But he made a point of telling me that he always stocks lot of blood, he can order whatever we need, and he’s open late on Wednesdays.”

“He said that? To you?”

“He did. I usually come by every week or so, to get some special items for my column. He knows all about my work. He’s a nice guy.”

“A nice guy,” Jack says softly, still trembling.

“A nice guy,” Bitty repeats, “with very cold hands.”

Jack looks at him, and then down at his own hands, still gloved. Bitty thinks he’s trying to figure out whether he’s being chirped. 

“Now,” Bitty says, taking Jack’s hands in his own, “why don’t you take these off, and pick up that mug while it’s still hot?”

Jack complies with the first part, taking off both gloves and setting them down on the table, but he hesitates as Bitty hands him his mug. “I – I can’t drink this in front of you.” He holds it like something is going to jump out and bite him.

“Why not?” Bitty picks up his own mug and takes a sip. The beef broth came out very well, nice and rich. He looks at Jack, trying to figure out what the problem is – if it’s something besides the obvious. “You do drink cow’s blood, right?”

“What? Yes – only that – I mean, that or some other animal.” Jack’s hands are shaking, and he sets the mug down again. “I’ve never had human blood. Except what they fed me, when I was trapped there. Bitty, I would never…”

Bitty sits quietly, waiting while Jack regains his composure. “I didn’t think so. I’m sorry for asking, but I wouldn’t want to inadvertently poison you or something. And since you were so hesitant to drink it, I wanted to be sure.”

Jack runs a hand through his hair, mussing it rather attractively. Now is not the time, Bitty thinks sternly to himself.

“Don’t you think it’s strange – way past strange? Me drinking blood? I mean, come on.” Jack makes a face of disgust.

And that’s not okay. It’s not okay that Jack feels that way about what he needs to do to stay alive. 

“Everything I made tonight started off as part of a cow,” Bitty says matter of factly. “If we’re going to eat cows in the first place, what’s the difference which part we eat?” This is what Bitty has been telling himself all day, and damn if he’s going to veer off the path now. If his boyfriend needs blood, he’s going to feed him blood. No one goes hungry in Eric Bittle’s house.

Jack watches Bitty drink his broth, and then relents, taking a small sip from his mug, then another. “It’s good,” he says tentatively, as if he’s afraid to admit it.

“I’m glad,” Bitty replies, smiling at him. “I tasted it, to make sure the rosemary wasn’t too strong, but I wasn’t sure how it would seem to you.”

“You tasted it?” Jack looks appalled.

“I’m not about to serve something I haven’t tasted, Jack. Come on now, it’s as if you don’t know me at all.”

An undecipherable look passes over Jack’s face, and he sets his mug down on the table. “Put that down,” he says, pointing to Bitty’s mug.

Curious, Bitty complies, and before he knows it, Jack has launched himself at him, wrapping him in a one hundred percent all-in patented Jack Zimmermann hug. 

Once Bitty gets over his shock, he hugs him back, digging his face into Jack’s neck. Sure, he’s a bit cool to the touch, but Bitty breathes him in anyway, thrilling in the feeling of his skin against his own. He’s here, Jack is finally here, in Bitty’s arms, where he belongs.

“Love you, Bits. Love you so much,” Jack murmurs, hands grasping at Bitty’s shirt.

“I love you too, sweetheart.” Bitty slides his fingers up from Jack’s neck into his hair, holding his head close. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes. It’s been so long since he has heard these words from Jack, it feels like his heart is cracking open.

“I can’t believe this is happening. That you’re okay with this,” Jack says.

“Believe it, babe,” Bitty says, his voice shaky. “I’ve got you back now, and I’m never letting go, challenging dietary requirements or not.”

Jack huffs out a laugh, ruffling Bitty’s hair with his breath. “Challenging dietary requirements. Nice.”

Bitty relaxes against Jack, loving the feeling of his strong arms wrapped around him. Jack still makes him feel safe, like no one else ever has. He closes his eyes, opening them only when Jack strokes his cheek with a finger and speaks softly to him.

“Bits? You awake?”

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry!” Bitty says, sitting up and blinking at Jack. “I’ve been so tired all day today, but I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

Jack sits back, hands still on Bitty’s waist. “When do you sleep, exactly?”

“At night,” Bitty replies primly.

“Except for when you’re waking up at 3:30 in the morning to go to the bakery, or staying up late with me.”

Bitty frowns at him. “We’re going to address your well-meaning stalking sometime when I’m more alert, Mr. Zimmermann.” He stifles a yawn, and Jack smirks at him. “Fine. My sleep schedule has been kind of irregular lately. But it doesn’t matter, I can work whenever I want. My editor could care less when I write, as long as I do it.”

“But it does matter if you aren’t taking care of yourself.” Jack stands up and gives Bitty a firm look. “Come on, time for bed.”

Bitty looks up at him, his tall and beautiful captain. How quickly he’s moved into protective mode. But Bitty isn’t ready to completely capitulate yet. “Only if you come with me.”

Jack wavers, and Bitty stands up and puts his hands on his shoulders. Jack tries to duck his head and look away, but given the angle, looking down only directs his gaze right at Bitty. “Don’t go, Jack, please. I need you here. With me. It’s where you belong.”

“You’re certain about that?” 

“I am. Beyond a doubt.” 

Jack doesn’t look convinced, but Bitty thinks he’s mostly on board. “Come on, I’ve got some stuff you can wear.”

“What do you mean?” Jack follows Bitty into his bedroom, and watches as Bitty opens up a drawer. He reaches in and looks through the clothes. “These are mine. Where did you get them?”

“The apartment, silly.”

“When?”

Bitty sighs. They really do need to talk about this stalking thing. He doesn’t need to be watched twenty-four hours a day. “Months ago. When I moved to Providence, Chowder came with me to the apartment. There were some things I wanted.” Things including these clothes, which had lived in a gym bag in Bitty’s closet until he washed them and put them away in his dresser this afternoon.

“So – the apartment’s still there? I mean, with all our stuff?”

“Yup. Your parents wouldn’t sell it. They keep hoping you’ll come back.”

“I can’t go back, ever.”

Bitty pulls a soft, long-sleeve shirt out of the drawer, and a pair of striped sleep pants, and hands them to Jack. “Why not?”

“People know it’s my place. I could be spotted.” Outed, more like, Bitty thinks. 

“That makes sense. I’m kind of surprised you’re here at all.”

Jack gives Bitty a “duh” look. “I had a very particular reason.”

Bitty smiles at him, sliding past him to find his own pajamas. “Oh?”

A few minutes later, Bitty has brushed his teeth, washed his face, and changed his clothes. He’s wearing Jack’s old Samwell hoodie and a pair of sleep shorts, his go-to comfort clothes. As he glances in the full length mirror on the back of his bathroom door, he realizes that he might have been better off wearing sweatpants – the hoodie comes down so far on him you don’t see his shorts at all, just his slender legs. A good look, he thinks, but perhaps a bit too much skin for their present situation. Oh well.

Jack is sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed when Bitty comes back to the room. He glances at Bitty – yup, he’s definitely noticing the outfit – and dashes into the bathroom. 

Minutes tick by, and Bitty is dangerously close to falling asleep before Jack even comes back to bed. He gets out of bed and does a few stretches, drinks half a glass of water, and then knocks on the bathroom door.

“Jack, honey? Everything okay?”

Jack opens the door immediately, looking abashed. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Bitty takes his hand and pulls him towards the bed, climbs in and holds the covers back. “Come on, I’m not gonna bite you.”

Jack’s eyes widen dramatically and Bitty’s hands fly to his face. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry, that’s probably not an appropriate thing to say-” He leans up on his knees and grabs Jack’s arm. “Just come here, Jack. Get into bed, and let me hold you.”

Jack finally complies. It takes some shuffling to get comfortable, neither of them being able to figure out where to put their limbs. It’s as if all their previous experience together has evaporated in the face of Jack’s awkward hesitation. It doesn’t matter, though, not when they are finally close, Bitty’s head on Jack’s shoulder, his hand pushing Jack’s bangs out of his face. 

“I need to ask you a favor,” Bitty says softly.

“Okay.” Jack sounds nervous already, but this is something he has to say.

“If you need to leave, during the night – just, please - promise you won’t go without saying goodbye. Wake me up if I’m asleep, but please don’t just…”

“Disappear,” Jack fills in. He doesn’t say anything else. 

Bitty feels badly for upsetting Jack, but he had to say it. He thinks he’s done a remarkable job of being resolute about his feelings for Jack, about trying to help him understand how much he cares for him, but at the same time, he’s got to at least try to protect his own heart. Just a little. Because he doesn’t know if he can take losing Jack again.

Jack begins to tremble, his chest hitching, and Bitty rises up on an elbow to look at his face. His eyes are squeezed tight, and when he opens them, tears spill out on to his cheeks.

“Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry.”

“I’ve been terrible to you.”

“You did not do anything to me.”

“I should have come sooner.”

“You suffered a terrible trauma, and you dealt with it as best you could.” Bitty holds Jack until he calms, then wipes his face with his hand. Without thinking, he pops a finger into his mouth.

“Bittle? What did you just do?” 

Bitty wants to smack himself across the face. He’s probably failing some universal “how to make your boyfriend feel like it’s okay to be a vampire” test, in whatever alternate universe that quiz shows up in Cosmo magazines. But he’s this far in, he’s not going to lie.

“Seeing whether you cried blood.”

Jack’s expression is a combination of perplexed and amazed. He puts a hand to Bitty’s cheek, tilts his head until he is looking him directly in the eyes. “This is not how I imagined this going at all, you know.”

“You’ve mentioned that before.”

“How the hell do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“You’re so casual about all this.”

Bitty sits up a little, takes Jack’s hand and holds it in his own. “I don’t mean to make light of what happened to you, Jack. I’m sorry if it seems that way.”

“No, no – that’s not what I meant-”

“I just love you, I guess,” Bitty goes on. “I love you so much, nothing that’s happened to you is going to change that. It’s just part of you. I know what it’s like not to have you in my life, and to have you back – even with some slight variations-” His throat tightens, and he struggles to keep going. “Hit me with your best shot. Whatever the worst part is, whatever you’re still afraid to tell me. I can take it. Nothing’s going to change the way I feel about you.”

Jack looks at him seriously. “I’m not sure what else to say. I have to drink blood to survive, the sun burns my skin, I’m unnaturally cold, and I can’t ever lead a normal life.” He sighs and closes his eyes. “I can’t get a job, I’m petrified of anyone finding out, I’m too afraid to -to talk to anyone, ever-”

“Except me,” Bitty says, snuggling closer to Jack. His hand is on Jack’s chest, and he realizes with relief that he can feel his heart beating.

“Except you.” Jack opens his eyes and smiles halfheartedly at Bitty. “It’s always you, Bits. How do you do this to me?”

“I just got lucky.”

“Right,” Jack scoffs. “Lucky to be stuck with me.”

“There’s no stuck about it, Jack. I want to be with you. I think I’ve made that perfectly clear.”

Jack takes Bitty’s hand and puts it to his lips, presses a cool kiss on his knuckles. “I know you have. I’m trying as hard as I can to believe it.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

A few minutes pass, while Bitty waits for Jack to say more, but apparently Jack was waiting for Bitty to do the same, as Jack eventually says “Go ahead, ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“Whatever you want to know. I’ll tell you anything.” Jack fidgets, sliding his arm more completely around Bitty and digging his face into Bitty’s hair, as if to prepare himself for the onslaught. “I won’t be offended, and I won’t run away.”

“All right then, let me think about it.” Bitty does, wondering how far to go. He feels that same urge to be flippant, to add humor to this remarkably difficult situation, but pushes it away. It’s time to be serious.

“How, exactly, did they turn you into a vampire?” Jack’s explanation had been a little vague. Bitty figured he’d learn more in time, but since this question segues right into his next one, he figured he might as well spit it out.

“By drinking my blood, and making me drink theirs, for days.” Jack sits up a little, dislodging Bitty, and pulls at the collar of his shirt. Just over his collarbone, off to one side, are two small shiny marks. “That’s where they bit me. Repeatedly.”

“Why did they do it?”

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Do you ever feel the urge to… drink someone’s blood?”

“No. Not ever.” Jack sits up, pulling the covers around his legs, and looks at Bitty. Bitty sits up too, giving Jack his full attention. “I was so afraid that I was going to. That one day I would wake up and be compelled to go out and attack someone. That’s part of why I went away. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting anyone – of hurting you. And it took a long time before I felt like it was safe for me to be near other people.”

“So you’ve never drank blood from a person?”

“Never.”

Bitty nods. “I’m really glad that you don’t want to bite me. As much as they make it sound all romantic in books, it sounds like it would hurt.”

Jack’s face darkens, and he turns away.

“Jack? What did I say?” Bitty puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“It might be different for me in a… sexual situation.”

Bitty can feel the blood rush to his face, and he swallows hard. “You mean, when you get aroused, you might want to…”

“Yeah. I don’t know for sure – I haven’t been with anyone like that, obviously – but that’s what someone told me.”

“You’ve talked to other people like you about this?”

Jack nods.

Bitty is quiet, trying to take it all in. It’s not all as simple as he has been trying to make it. Somehow everything seems a bit more challenging than just finding ways to make blood more appetizing.

Jack speaks into the silence. “You see? This can’t work, Bitty. There’s no way we can have the life we wanted. It’s just too fucked up.” He pulls his legs out from under the covers, but Bitty grabs on to him with both hands before he can get out of bed.

“Hold on, Jack. Stay here.”

Jack shoots him a sharp look. “What’s the point?”

“The point is that I love you, and you love me, and giving up just because we haven’t figured everything out isn’t going to solve anything.”

“But I freak you out. I know I do – I’d freak me out, too.”

“I’m not freaked out, I promise. But it’s a lot to absorb.”

“I don’t even know if I would want that – to bite you – and I’m sure I wouldn’t have to, but what if we got going and I…?” Jack buries his face in his hands. “I’m not cut out for this.”

“What, awkward conversations about sex? You’ve certainly had a lot of practice.” Bitty cringes as he hears the words fall out of his mouth. Apparently he is simply unable to stop chirping Jack, even about this.

But Jack doesn’t mind this time. He laughs, and runs his hand through his hair, then looks at Bitty fondly. “Remember the time you told me about Shitty’s wish list?”

“The one he emailed to me by mistake instead of Lardo?” It had included a variety of ideas for kinky sex play, and Jack had dared Bitty to read it out loud. In return, Bitty made Jack pick one to try. 

“That was a fun night,” Jack says shyly. 

“We definitely both enjoyed it, if I remember correctly,” Bitty says. “You were so impressed that Shitty had the courage to tell Lardo what he was thinking about.”

“I was. Although, given that it was Shitty, I probably shouldn’t have been.”

“And you were pretty surprised at my reaction.”

“True. I didn’t think you’d be into any of that.”

Bitty laughs. “I actually always thought you would be.”

Jack bends forward, hiding his head in the blankets by his feet. “You did not,” he says, his voice muffled.

“I did.” Bitty pulls at Jack’s shoulder until he’s upright again. “I was just too chicken to say anything. But I thought we made it clear that night that if there was ever something one of us wanted to try, we should talk about it. I’m always willing to give something a try, if it’s something you want, Jack. As long as it’s safe.”

“You can’t catch this from me,” Jack rushes to say, “not even if I bite you. You’d have to drink my blood, lots of it. And over a long enough period of time so your body couldn’t replenish its own blood fast enough.”

Bitty studies Jack carefully, then nods. “I believe you. Otherwise there would be a lot more vampires out there, right?”

He sees Jack’s eyes widen, and realizes what he said. “Is that not the right term?”

“Well, it’s not like in the books – I don’t have any problem with garlic, or churches. I can see myself in the mirror.”

“And your heart beats,” Bitty says, pressing his palm to Jack’s chest.

“Yeah. But this – condition - it’s probably what all those stories were based on. It’s close enough.”

Bitty grins, and tilts his head at Jack. “My very own Edward Cullen.”

“That’s your one time to make that joke, Bittle. Never again.”

“Fine. Ruin my fun.” Bitty yawns, and Jack looks at him sternly.

“You were supposed to be asleep by now.”

“I’m fine,” Bitty says, lying down and pulling Jack against him. “I don’t have to go to the bakery tomorrow, remember?”

“And what are you going to tell Lily about your extended absence?”

“I don’t know, she doesn’t need details.”

“This is never going to work, Bitty,” Jack says again, but it’s got less of a pained tinge than the last time he said it. He’s starting to believe in them again, Bitty thinks, as Jack goes on with his latest concern. “It’s even worse than when we were dating your junior year. At least then we could be together as friends. And go outside in the daylight.”

“Don’t go worrying about that right now, Mr. Zimmermann. Just hold me so I can get a decent night’s rest – or what’s left of the night, anyhow. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it comes. One game at a time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Bitty teases Jack with at the beginning of the chapter is "I Need You" by America.


	15. Letting the Outside In

Sunday, November 12

Bitty wakes up, stretches, and quickly remembers the events of the night before, including Jack’s promise not to leave. His heart sinks as he reaches out and realizes that he’s alone in the bed. “He left,” he breathes out sadly, but a second later the bed dips and Jack is sitting on the edge.

“I didn’t,” he says quickly, eyes wide. “I just didn’t want to wake you.”

Bitty tilts his head at Jack, fear giving way to relief, and then curiosity. “Is there something about enhanced hearing you forgot to mention?”

“Sorry. There’s a lot. We were mostly just talking about the bad stuff.”

“True enough.” Bitty glances at the clock. It’s almost nine, well into daylight hours even in November. Maybe Jack is staying the day? “I’m going to shower, and then I’ll make some breakfast.”

“I already started. Come out when you’re ready.” Jack disappears from the bedroom, and Bitty startles. Jack’s apparently got some kind of speedy power, too, in addition to the enhanced hearing. No wonder he never spotted Jack watching him.

Bitty showers quickly, dries off, and puts on jeans, a white button-down, and a maroon sweater vest. When he gets to the kitchen, he realizes Jack has dressed nicely too – he’s wearing some of his old clothes from Bitty’s stash, a blue half-zip sweater with a collared shirt underneath, and jeans. It’s a nice change from the black hoodie, although the fit of the jeans reveals that Jack has indeed slimmed down a bit. 

“You look amazing,” Bitty says, coming up to Jack and sliding in between him and the kitchen counter. He’s dying to give him a kiss, but instead he just takes his free hand and gives it a squeeze. 

Jack blinks his eyes closed for a moment, then opens them, smiling freely at Bitty. “Thank you.” He turns and waves at the plate on the island. “Eat up while it’s still hot.”

Jack has made him an omelet with tomato and cheese, with a few strawberries on the edge of the plate for garnish. Bitty takes a bite. “It’s delicious.”

“Just because I can’t eat anymore doesn’t mean I forgot how to cook.”

Bitty is not going to chirp him right now for claiming he knows how to cook. Jack had mastered about five dishes so he didn’t starve when he was alone in Providence, but generally asked Bitty how to make anything outside of eggs, grilled chicken, and PB&J. Right now, he’s just thrilled that Jack is standing here in his kitchen, smiling at him, looking like he finally did something right.

“This is the best omelet I’ve ever had. And the presentation is lovely, too.”

Jack keeps smiling, and sits down in the chair next to Bitty. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you having breakfast? There’s plenty of blood for you in the fridge.”

Jack’s smile droops momentarily at the mention of the blood, but he rallies quickly. “I had some already.”

“You sure you had enough? I can go back to Mario and get more anytime. How much do you normally drink?”

Jack frowns. He pauses, and rubs his hands on his pants. “I know I’ve lost weight. I don’t really know why. I’m never hungry enough to have more than a glass or two a day.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Mario whether there’s a recommended daily allowance, or some kind of other thing you could be eating to supplement your diet.”

“I don’t think they make vitamins for people like me.”

Bitty raises an eyebrow, then pops another bite of omelet into his mouth. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

“That’s not always true,” Jack mumbles.

“What? You think Mario’s going to call the cops on you?”

Jack shrugs. “I don’t know him at all. But at some point, if I start… living again, instead of just hiding, word is going to get out about me. I can’t let the media find out, Bitty. I just can’t. And there’s the small matter of my contract with the Falcs.”

This is something that hadn’t occurred to Bitty. “You think they’d be mad at you? After all you’ve been through?”

Jack sighs. “Believe me, I’ve thought a lot about this. If I reappear without a good explanation, I’ll be eaten alive by the press, and the Falcs will probably have my head. If I try to tell the truth, I’ll be locked up in jail, or sent to rehab, or a mental institution. There’s no way to come back from this, not as Jack Zimmermann.”

Bitty sets his knife and fork neatly on his plate, and looks at Jack. “I admit it’s a difficult situation. But I don’t think it’s impossible. You came out once before, and that turned out just fine.”

“It’s not the same, Bitty.”

Bitty has to admit he’s right. “Yeah, probably not. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a way through it.”

“Maybe. But I haven’t been able to come up with one.”

“Have you asked anyone to help you?”

Jack frowns at him. “You know the answer to that.”

“Well, then, let’s table the larger issue for now, and focus on something a little more concrete.”

“Like what?”

“How about helping me make English black pudding? My boss was actually thrilled with the theme I proposed, so I’ll be making old style English Christmas food for the next month.”

Jack smiles. “I like helping you cook.”

“I know you do, honey. And I like having you help me.” 

They spend the morning in the kitchen, Bitty directing Jack as they work. Bitty makes the oatmeal while Jack chops the onion; Bitty mixes the oatmeal, meat, onion and spices into the blood while Jack lines the loaf pans. It’s so similar to how they used to spend time together, Bitty almost forgets how much has changed. 

Finally the mixture is placed in the oven, and they clean up the mess, Jack washing while Bitty dries. 

When they finish, Bitty finds Jack staring at him with a look of awe on his face.

“Jack? What’s up?”

Jack steps closer to him, puts a hand on his waist and another on his cheek, and presses a soft, closed mouth kiss to his lips. It’s short, and sweet, and one of the very best kisses Bitty has had in his whole life, second only to the kiss they shared on Jack’s graduation day.

Jack leans his forehead against Bitty’s and wraps his arms tightly around his back. “This is the most normal I’ve felt in almost a year, Bits. Thank you.”

“Thank you for being the perfect sous chef,” Bitty says. He chances a small kiss back, just a brush of his lips on Jack’s in return, and Jack hums happily. There’s my boy, Bitty thinks.

The rest of the day doesn’t go quite so magically. When the food is done cooking and cooling, Bitty packages it up into single-servings, and puts them in the freezer. He’ll take them out in a few days and defrost them, and then be able to write about the whole process for his article.

After seeing to the food, Bitty spends a few hours writing up the first part of the black pudding column, and he assumes Jack is reading one of the books he downloaded onto Bitty’s tablet. But when Bitty finishes up and comes to find Jack, he’s just lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“Jack? You okay?”

Jack’s eyes find him, and it seems like he almost doesn’t recognize him for a moment, he’s so far away in his thoughts. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I need to run out to the store. I thought I might stop by your old apartment, too, pick up some more of your stuff. Anything in particular you want?”

“What? No.” Jack looks troubled. “You shouldn’t go there.”

“Why not?”

“What if someone sees you?”

“They’ll think the same thing they did the other time I went – poor Eric Bittle, still pining for his lost love. Or, you know, forgetful Eric Bittle, still can’t remember how many cupcake pans he needs from Zimmermann’s kitchen.”

Jack sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “Is it weird that even though I just said you shouldn’t go, I really want to go with you?”

“No, of course not.”

“I miss it. Our place.”

Bitty sits down next to Jack and tucks himself in against his side. “Me too. But we can make anyplace our place. Anywhere we’re together works for me. Seattle, Montreal, New Orleans…”

Jack looks at Bitty curiously. “Who said anything about New Orleans?”

“Anne Rice. And if Stephenie Meyer was right about Washington State being a perfect place for vampires, maybe Ms. Rice was right about New Orleans.”

Jack looks at Bitty as if he’s magically produced a Stanley Cup and offered it to Jack to drink out of. “Bitty, have I ever told you that you are the most delightful person I have ever known?”

“I believe you have, kind sir.”

*****  
It feels strange, walking along the street towards Jack’s old apartment that night, with Jack shadowing him somewhere nearby. It was the only way Jack felt comfortable with the trip – he would keep an eye on Bitty, but stay out of sight, so that even if Bitty was spotted entering the building, it would seem as if he were alone. Bitty’s not sure exactly how this works.

“I’m still there,” Jack had said, biting his lip as he tried to explain. “But I move fast. And I can hold really still. Generally if it’s dark out, and I don’t want to be seen… no one sees me.” It’s just one more thing in the strange new world that is Jack’s current state, and Bitty isn’t going to argue about it. 

When Bitty turns the key in the lock and pushes open the door, Jack is suddenly beside him, and they go into the apartment together. He’s wearing his black hoodie and leather jacket again, what Bitty thinks of as his stealth outfit. But he pushes the hood down off his head after he comes inside.

Bitty watches as Jack looks around, stone faced as he takes it all in. For a few minutes Bitty thinks this isn’t a big deal, that Jack doesn’t feel bothered at all, and they will soon pack up some clothes and get out of there.

But then Jack sees the photographs in their room, of Jack and Bitty together. Different poses, but the same look of silly happiness on their faces in so many of them. He sits down on the edge of the bed and picks up a photo Bitty knows is a favorite, one he took of Bitty in their kitchen last summer, the light coming through the window making Bitty shine even more golden than usual. Jack picks up another, the two of them on a picnic for their second fourth of July together, lying down on a blanket in a Georgia field. Bitty can feel the sun on his skin, remembers the way Jack’s hair curled in the heat. He wonders if Jack misses the sunlight.

“We should take some of these, yeah?” Jack says, looking up at Bitty. 

“Definitely.”

Bitty gets a suitcase out of the closet while Jack opens and closes drawers. He seems most interested in sweaters and long sleeved shirts, which is understandable given the season, but Bitty thinks it also has something to do with the way he feels about his body these days. 

As Jack continues to collect things to bring back to Bitty’s little place, he wonders if they should stop at Jack’s current place, too, to bring over whatever he has there. He mentions this to Jack, who waves off the suggestion.

“There’s nothing there.”

Of course, now Bitty is curious. “Where is your place, anyway?”

Jack clearly doesn’t want to talk about this, as he walks into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets at random. Bitty’s not sure what he’s looking for, since he wouldn’t be interested in Bitty’s cooking tools even if he could eat what he baked.

“Jack?”

“It’s near your apartment.”

Hmm. “How near?”

“Very near.” Jack’s practically snapping at him.

“Hey,” Bitty says softly, coming up behind him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’m just curious, honey. There’s no need to get upset.”

“You’ve been joking about me stalking you, Bittle, but that’s what I was doing. It’s pretty much all I’ve been doing for months.” His voice is tight.

“Okay… I kind of figured that.”

“But it’s – it’s not okay. What kind of person gets an apartment across the street from their boyfriend and creeps on them without saying anything?”

“Across the street, hm?” Bitty pushes at Jack’s shoulder until he turns to face him. Bitty thinks of looking out his kitchen window at the street below, watching the streetlamps flicker on at night. “Did you like my curtains? My mama sent them to me. She liked the pattern.”

Jack blows out a breath in frustration. “Why doesn’t this bother you more?”

“Do I wish you came back to me sooner? Of course I do, honey.” Bitty steps closer, puts both his hands on Jack’s shoulders. “But I’m not mad at you for taking the time you needed. And I’m certainly not mad at you for keeping me safe.”

Jack continues to poke around the bedroom. He comes to a stop again in front of the bookcase, selecting a few novels and tossing them on the bed. Another photograph falls out of a book Shitty gave him for Christmas last year – it’s a picture of Jack, Bitty, Shitty and Lardo, when they went apple picking on a farm near Samwell just after Halloween. It had been a great afternoon together, coming back to Providence afterwards to drink cider and eat the many apple laden desserts Bitty made from their haul. As the evening wore on, they played some crazy drinking game Shitty had learned from a classmate, and Lardo, as expected, beat them all soundly. He remembers Lardo poking at him where he lay on the floor, half on top of Jack and with Shitty draped over them both, as she forced them to get up and go to bed.

“That was a good day, wasn’t it?” Bitty says softly.

Jack turns towards him, as if surprised to find him standing there. “Yeah, it was.” Jack sits down on the bed and sets the photo back inside the book it fell from. “I miss Shitty. Lardo, too.”

Bitty sits down next to Jack and leans against his shoulder. “And they miss you.”

That night, back in Bitty’s little apartment, Jack clings tight to Bitty’s side when they get into bed. Bitty had hoped that maybe that morning’s sweet kiss from Jack signaled a change in his willingness to engage in more intimate relations, but so far that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“I’m scared,” Jack says into Bitty’s skin, barely loud enough for Bitty to hear.

“Of what?” Bitty’s chest clenches. He’s not sure he’s ever heard Jack say this before.

Jack doesn’t answer immediately, and when he does, it tears at Bitty’s heart. “Everything.”


	16. Baby Steps

Over the next few days, things seem to return to a version of normal. Bitty goes back to work at the bakery, Jack escorting him from the shadows. Jack says he uses the time Bitty’s at work to read, or sleep, but he’s always awake and waiting for Bitty when he returns. 

Neither of them mention contacting Shitty, or Jack’s parents, or the Falconers, or any of the things that Bitty had been dropping hints about before their visit to Jack’s old apartment. But Thanksgiving is coming up, and Bitty has been ignoring a number of increasingly insistent messages from Shitty and Chowder. The fact that Shitty probably knows why he’s not answering and Chowder doesn’t isn’t making things any easier.

Finally one afternoon he raises the issue with Jack.

“Thanksgiving is next week.”

Jack blinks up at him from where he is settled on the couch, reading a book. “I know.”

“Chowder wants me to come to the Haus party.”

Jack looks away. “You should go. It wouldn’t be a party without you.”

“They just want my pies.”

Jack looks back at Bitty, forcing a smile. “Thanksgiving is definitely a good time for pie. But they miss you, Bits, not just your baked goods, eh? Chowder cares about you.”

Bitty nods. “He does, and he’s a little bewildered at why I haven’t said yes yet.” Bitty sees a flash of regret in Jack’s eyes. “Of course, Chowder is easily bewildered.”

Jack gives Bitty another cheerless smile. “He’s your friend. You haven’t spent any time with him at all in, what, a month or two? You should go. And your pumpkin pie deserves to be appreciated. You can’t just hide out with me all the time, it wouldn’t be right.”

Bitty sits down next to Jack and pulls a leg up underneath him, his knee pressing into Jack’s thigh, and takes Jack’s hand. “Being with you is always right, sweetheart.”

Jack looks away. His hand is cold and still in Bitty’s.

“Shitty has also been bugging me about Thanksgiving.”

As expected, Jack isn’t as quick to offer a solution to this one. He’d like to see Shitty, he needs to see him, in a very different way than he might once have enjoyed spending time with Chowder and his fellow frogs. “Is Shitty going to the Haus too?”

“He’s got a different idea.” 

He waits as Jack draws in a long breath and turns to look at him. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Shitty suggested that he and Lardo come here that evening. He wants to go to his grandparents’ house for the actual meal – his grandfather hasn’t been well and he wants to spend some time with him– but he and Lardo can leave after dinner and come here, for a dessert party. Just the four of us.”

Jack avoids his gaze. Bitty knows this look. It’s his “maybe if I sit quietly the person asking me a question will forget they asked and move on” face. It’s never worked particularly well on Bitty, at least not since they got together.

“If you want, we can tell them in advance that you won’t be eating anything. Come up with some reason, any reason we want. Stomach flu, allergies, some gastrointestinal disorder, anything.

“You still won’t get to share Thanksgiving dinner with your friends. I know how much you like that.”

“But my pies will be appreciated. And I’ll get to spend the day with you,” Bitty slides closer to Jack and puts a hand on his cheek, turning his face until he has no choice but to look him in the eye, “and that is much more important to me than eating a tough ol’ turkey.”

“Your turkey is never tough,” Jack says, letting his eyes fall closed as Bitty nuzzles his face.

“Now you’re just arguing for the sake of arguing,” Bitty says, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders and pulling him close. He holds him for a few minutes, tucking himself against his side, murmuring his approval when Jack puts an arm around him. But then he sits back, ready to put the plan into action. “Okay, so, what are we going to tell Shitty?”

Jack takes Bitty’s laptop off the coffee table and sets it on his lap, opens up Skype. “The truth.”

*****

It is a good idea, Bitty thinks, an admirable one, but it proves impossible to execute. He’s impressed with Jack’s fortitude, but when it comes down to actually saying the words (Bitty wasn’t clear on whether Jack planned to say “I’m sort of a vampire” or something a little less dramatic), Jack can’t do it. Bitty finds himself watching while Shitty babbles excitedly about how fucking ‘swawesome it is to see Jack, how he can’t wait to see him in person, it’s only a week away, he’s going to fatten up Jack’s beautiful ass… In response, Jack says practically nothing, getting more and more uncomfortable as the short call progresses.

Finally Bitty interrupts, cutting off Shitty’s rant about how he’s going to hell for having a reason to look forward to a holiday that blatantly ignores what the Europeans did to the indigenous people of America. “So talk to Lardo, and text me to confirm the details,” Bitty says firmly, earning a grateful look from Jack, and after a few more enthusiastic whoops from Shitty, they disconnect the call.

Jack immediately gets up from the couch and goes into the bathroom. Bitty thinks he’s disappointed in himself for not being able to go through with his plan of telling Shitty about what happened to him. Or just too worried about how Shitty will take it. Or both.

“Jack?” He knocks on the door after fifteen minutes go by without a sound. 

“I’m fine, Bittle.”

“If you want to be alone, you don’t have to hide in there, you know. The bedroom is much more comfortable.”

Jack opens the door and looks at Bitty. “Maybe I just needed to use the bathroom.”

Bitty tilts his head at him, and Jack sighs. 

“I’m going to have something to eat. Hungry?” In some ways Bitty knows asking this is like rubbing salt in a wound, but it’s not really something they can avoid. Both of them have to eat.

“No. I’m going to go lie down.” Jack slides past Bitty and into the bedroom, but turns when he gets to the doorway. “Join me when you’re done?” He looks so forlorn; Bitty almost skips dinner and climbs into bed with Jack then and there. But he figures maybe Jack could some time to himself right now, and he really does need to eat. Bitty’s never at his best when he’s hungry, and he thinks that their next conversation might be a difficult one.

“Of course, honey.”

*****  
Forty-five minutes later, Bitty gives a quiet knock on the door to his bedroom and goes inside. Jack looks up from where he is bundled under the covers, only his head sticking out. Bitty strips down to his boxers and stands by the side of the bed.

Jack’s eyes widen as he stares at Bitty, then rapidly looks away. 

“I’ll put a shirt on if you want, sweetheart. But I’d really like to be close to you right now.”

It’s little bit bold, Bitty knows, but Jack tends to appreciate it when he speaks his mind. And God knows he’s telling the truth; he wants so much to be closer to Jack. Having him here is a million times better than not having him, of course, there’s no question, but he _misses_ Jack, even with him right here next to him, and he’s willing to bet Jack misses him too. 

Jack is still staring at him, and Bitty can only guess at the thoughts going through his mind. 

“What are you worried about?” Bitty sits on the edge of the bed, twists to face Jack. 

“I’m not… I’m not like I was,” Jack says, pressing his face into the pillow until only half his face is visible.

Bitty lies down, leaving space between them, but reaching to thread his fingers through Jack’s hair. “Are you feeling self-conscious about how you look?”

Jack squeezes his eyes shut and shrugs. 

“Jack, you do realize I don’t play hockey anymore either?”

Jack blinks one eye open. “So?”

“So whatever hint of abs I might have built up while I was working out every day is long gone.” Bitty runs a hand down his own narrow chest, rests it on the tiny swell of belly above his waistband. “And you know I eat a lot of pie.”

Jack pushes up on an elbow, the blanket falling to his waist. “Bitty – what are you talking about? You’re gorgeous.” His eyes drop down to Bitty’s chest and back up again, almost apologetically.

“You can look at me, honey,” Bitty says softly, sitting up a little more. “I like it when you look at me.”

Jack does, then, and Bitty can see his breathing pick up. It’s so chaste, really, compared to what they used to share together. But Bitty would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little turned on, just by that small flicker of attention.

Jack reaches out and touches a cool hand to Bitty’s shoulder, then runs it down his arm. Bitty shivers, and Jack pulls his hand back, hurt.

“Baby, no,” Bitty coos, taking Jack’s hand and placing it on his chest, over his heart. “That was a good shiver. I promise.”

“I’m sorry I’m so cold,” Jack says apologetically. “I can’t help it. There’s nothing I can do. I thought maybe I’d warm up after eating, like in all the vampire stories, but I don’t get any warmer, no matter how much blood I drink.”

“You’re no colder than you’d be after being outside, walking home from class or across campus to breakfast. You’re not going to freeze me with your touch or anything. You’re not Elsa.”

A laugh explodes from Jack’s mouth and he falls on to his back, shaking his head. “I can’t believe Holster got me to watch that movie,” he mumbles. But he’s still not assuaged. “You’re not worried about me hurting you?” he asks, turning back to Bitty with a nervous look on his face.

Bitty lies back down on his side next to Jack and takes his hand. “I’m not. I trust you, Jack. If anything we don’t like happens… we’ll deal with it. And I’m not saying we have to do anything in particular. I honestly just want to be closer. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Jack seems to think about this for a moment, then sits up and pulls off his long sleeved shirt. He sees Bitty looking at him, and promptly slides back under the covers with a shy smile. But when Bitty scoots next to him Jack wraps his arms around Bitty’s shoulders and pulls him snug against his chest. “Love you, Bitty. I love you so much.”

Bitty hums in contentment. “I love you, too.” He shuffles until he’s right where he wants to be, head tucked underneath Jack’s neck, chest pressed up against his cool skin. His body wants more, but it can wait. His heart is full to the brim. 

*****

The next morning Bitty calls to mind the old adage “three steps forward, two steps back.” He wakes up cuddled happily against his boyfriend’s broad chest, and without even thinking about it, begins to drop kisses from his collarbone down to a nipple. But Jack wakes up and is across the room in a flash, leaving Bitty’s head spinning.

“Um, sorry?” Bitty says, pulling his knees up to his chest.

“Fuck, Bittle, I – I – you surprised me.” 

Bitty smiles fondly at him. “You surprised me too, sweetheart. Come back to bed.”

Jack wraps his arms around himself and shakes his head nervously. “Not right now, okay?” 

“Okay.”

Later that morning, Bitty brings Jack a mug of blood. It’s got a smidgen of vanilla in it, and some cinnamon. A little weird, Bitty admits, but it’s hard for him to go savory before ten in the morning. 

He sits down next to Jack on the couch and waits while Jack drinks a little. Bitty has got his own mug as well, coffee with vanilla and cinnamon. Not quite the same as sharing a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls, but it’s something.

When Jack sets down his drink, Bitty does the same. He stretches out on the couch sideways and puts his socked feet in Jack’s lap. Jack is clearly still worried about touching him, or getting aroused, or losing control in some way; this morning is proof of that. Bitty knows this isn’t going to be something that’s solved overnight. But he’s willing to take baby steps.

Jack looks at him curiously.

“Foot rub?” Bitty asks hopefully, wiggling his toes.

Jack smiles and relaxes. “Sure.” 

Bitty lies back and closes his eyes. Jack has always used his strong hands in immensely pleasurable ways when it comes to Bitty’s body, and foot rubs are no exception. He’s fairly sure that the noises he makes as Jack massages him could be mistaken for a more sexual activity, but he’s not a bit self-conscious about it. His boyfriend makes him feel good, and he wants him to know it.

After a while he feels a blanket being draped over him, and a quick kiss pressed to his cheek. He must have drifted off. His sleep schedule is still hit and miss, between early mornings at the bakery and late nights with Jack. Bitty wants to open his eyes and praise Jack for a pulling off a very successful foot rub, but Jack just chuckles at his efforts and strokes his head. 

“I’ll be right here, Bits. Go to sleep,” Jack instructs gently.

So he does.


	17. Overwhelmed

It’s Thanksgiving, and Jack has been watching the clock all day, in anticipation of Shitty and Lardo’s visit. To say he is nervous would be an understatement. 

Bitty has been doing his best to distract him, enlisting his help in the kitchen while he makes pies (pumpkin, apple cranberry, and lemon meringue, the latter because he says he likes to watch Shitty eat the fluffy part), and chattering to him all day long. They watch a movie on the couch, pressed up close together with a blanket tucked around them, until Bitty realizes that Jack isn’t paying any attention to it and goes flipping through their on demand list until he finds a history documentary. 

Jack still can’t believe how well Bitty has taken all this, and that Bitty still loves him, even after what he put him through. Even though Jack’s not quite the same person he was before. There’s a big difference between having an NHL boyfriend versus one who is so closeted he can’t even leave the house in daylight; one you can’t even talk with your family about. 

Jack’s just waiting for the moment when this all becomes too much for Bitty, when it’s one crazy step too far, and his sweet, caring boy calls an end to it. 

They’re in Bitty’s tiny bedroom, and Bitty is shuffling through the closet. He’s gotten something on his shirt and has decided to change again before their guests arrive.

“This one, do you think?” Bitty asks, holding up a light blue sweater he always said made him think of Jack’s eyes. “Blue isn’t very Thanksgiving-y, but I do love it.” Bitty rubs the soft fabric against his cheek, smiling softly at Jack.

“Sure.”

Bitty pulls it on over his t-shirt. Jack reaches for him, and he comes close, letting Jack run his hands down from his shoulders over his arms. Jack tugs at Bitty and he steps in between Jack’s knees, so Jack can bury his face in Bitty’s chest. Jack works on taking long breaths in, slow breaths out, and concentrates on the feel of Bitty’s warm hands on his back.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. They love you.”

Jack wishes he could believe that will be enough. It’s easy to love someone when you don’t know all the facts. 

Bitty goes on, as if he’s reading Jack’s mind – he’s remarkably good at it. “You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to. But Shitty and Lardo are still gonna love you, even if you tell them everything. ”

“How do you know?” Jack says, keeping his face pressed against Bitty’s chest. “This isn’t something normal, Bits.” I’m a monster, he thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say it. They’ve had this conversation, and Bitty doesn’t approve.

“Apparently it’s more normal than we ever thought,” Bitty says. “And can you actually imagine Shitty holding a medical condition against you? Or stereotyping based on a disability? He’d fight anyone who did – go off on a long rant about ableism, back it up with citations and quotes. Think about who we’re dealing with here.”

“What about Lardo?” Sometimes he tends to think of them as halves of the same whole, but it isn’t really the case. She’s a lot less easy going than Shitty in some ways.

“Lardo adores you. She’s so happy you’re back among the living, honey. Believe me, it’s gonna be okay.”

But half an hour later, when Jack hears the door to their building open and close, it doesn’t feel okay. It feels far, far from okay.

He hears Shitty and Lardo talking as they come up the stairs, Lardo chastising Shitty for bringing a bottle of bourbon, Shitty explaining that it’s tradition, and then there’s a knock on the door.

“Just a sec,” Bitty calls as he comes into the bedroom, where Jack is still sitting on the edge of the bed, much as he has been since they came in for Bitty to change his clothes. “Do you want to just hang here for a while, let everyone settle in?”

Yes, Jack thinks to himself, I’d like to hang here for approximately the rest of the night. Unfortunately that probably isn’t acceptable. If nothing else, Bitty would be disappointed, or at least worried. And he hates to give Bitty more reasons to worry.

There’s another knock, and Jack can hear Lardo telling Shitty to calm the fuck down. Good advice for them both.

“Maybe it would be better if you talked to Shitty first? Without everyone watching?” Bitty suggests, sitting down next to Jack, his warm little body leaning against Jack’s shoulder. 

“Okay, yeah.” He’s not sure this will solve anything, but it’s possible it might help. Bitty usually has good ideas about this kind of thing.

“All right. I’ll send him in in a few minutes.” Bitty stands up. “But if you change your mind, and you don’t want to see them at all, just text me.”

“They came all this way-”

“And the three of us will very much enjoy the evening together, even without your presence, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty chirps him. “Honestly, honey, don’t worry so much. Whatever you decide, it’s gonna be okay.” Bitty gives him a peck on the cheek and a smile, and then he’s out the door, closing it behind him.

Jack leans his head on his hands and sighs. He hears Shitty and Lardo come in, Shitty’s enthusiastic greetings, Bitty’s protest at being squashed in Shitty’s arms (which he actually loves, Jack knows). They’ve both apparently been here before, as Lardo comments on the fleece throw blanket on the couch (several new blankets have appeared, after Jack made a midnight run to his old apartment to pick up additional items that he thought might make his chilly skin seem less shocking to Bitty). Then, of course, comes the inevitable. Even with the bedroom door closed, Jack can hear every inflection in the question.

“So, where’s Jack?” Shitty asks.

“He’s in the bedroom.”

“Is he sick?” This is Lardo, puzzled, probably because if he were sick, this fiasco would have been called off.

“No, he’s not sick. Just a little shy.” Leave it to Bitty to throw that right out there. “He wants to talk to you alone first, Shits. But give him a break, okay? He hasn’t exactly been a social butterfly lately.”

Shitty laughs loudly. “That fucker’s never been a social butterfly, I’m well aware. But sure, I’ll go talk to him.”

Jack barely has a chance to prepare himself before Shitty’s knocking on the door. He actually waits for Jack to respond before coming in; apparently Bitty’s words have had some effect.

“Hi.” Jack says, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans.

Shitty is just staring at him, and Jack wonders what he’s seeing – his sunken cheeks, his ghostly pale skin, his weight loss. 

But then Shitty explodes, wrapping his arms around Jack and nearly knocking him back on to the bed with the force of his embrace. “Bro, you are the most gorgeous fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” Shitty exclaims, squeezing Jack tightly. “Can’t believe I went so long without laying my eyes on you. You’re a goddamn beaut.”

Shitty releases him, but keeps his hands on Jack’s arms, looking him up and down. “Bitty obviously dressed you today, but man, you are looking good.” Jack is, in fact, wearing a new sweater Bitty bought him. It’s a dark blue that apparently makes his eyes sparkle, according to Bits.

“It’s good to see you too,” Jack says. He hadn’t planned on getting this close to Shitty, but it feels so familiar to have his big body knocking against his own, he can’t bring himself to pull away. And if Shitty can tell that he’s unnaturally cold, he’s not saying anything.

Shitty climbs up on the bed, props himself up against the headboard, and pats the spot next to him. “Come on, get up here and let me tell you how much I missed you.”

Jack does, and Shitty proceeds to give him an overview of his life since they last talked, complete with comments on his favorite courses, the douchebags he most wanted to hit over the head with a textbook, his victory in the mock trial competition last spring, his summer job working for a criminal defense attorney, and his current courseload. 

“’Course Bitty got to hear all about this crap, probably more than he wanted to,” Shitty says, slowing down. “Until the past few weeks, that is. When something else seemed to capture his attention, if you know what I mean.”

Jack can’t believe it’s only been a few weeks since he revealed himself to Bitty and essentially moved in with him. It’s too good, now, more than he ever really let himself hope he’d have again someday. 

Shitty has finally stopped talking, and seems to be waiting for Jack to respond. Jack wonders if there’s a reproach hidden in his words. He knows Bitty talked with Shitty a lot since his disappearance; apparently there was bourbon involved, as well.

“I’m sorry I did that to Bitty,” Jack says, and hardly even finishes his sentence before Shitty is yelling at him again.

“What? No, fuck, that’s not what I meant. I mean I’m so freaking glad you’re back, that’s all. Bitty’s so goddamn happy now, can’t you see it? He’s not pissed at you. And whatever happened, man, I know you would never hurt him on purpose. He’s happy, so we’re happy. End of story.” Shitty shoves at Jack’s shoulder until he turns to look at him, and there’s nothing on Shitty’s face but love and acceptance (and that same old awful mustache).

“Okay. Okay, thanks.”

“You’re damn right.” Shitty sighs and punches Jack on the leg. “Well, now that we cleared that up, how about we go eat some pie? Bitty promised me lemon meringue.”

“I can’t eat pie.” There it is. The tip of the iceberg. (Good pun, he thinks to himself.)

But Shitty doesn’t even blink, probably thinks he’s talking about some hockey nutrition plan.

“I don’t give a fuck what you eat, I’m gonna eat pie. It’s Thanksgiving. Come on bro, let’s go.” Shitty slides off the bed and motions towards the door, but Jack can’t move.

“Shitty, I need to talk to you.”

He sees that look come over Shitty’s face, that “I am calmly and neutrally listening” look, that look that made so many people feel safe in coming out to Shitty at Samwell. Although Jack never told Shitty about his sexuality when they were in college, he did confide in him about a fair number of things he held close to his chest – his relationship with his father, his anxiety, his overdose. And for the most part, Shitty was good about keeping his secrets. 

“Okay.” Shitty settles back down on the bed, lounging across the bottom so he’s facing Jack. “But you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. You know that, right?”

Jack knows it in theory. But he also knows that if he wants Shitty and Lardo to be part of his life again – to stay part of Bitty’s life – he’s got to tell them the truth. He’s thought this through, and it’s as much for Bitty as it is for himself. Bitty claims he’s okay with their even-more-closeted-than-before relationship, where no one can even know he exists, but it’s not a sustainable way to live, not for his sweet ball of Southern sunshine. Bitty needs a social circle he can trust, and a support system, and Jack can’t provide that all by himself. 

“I know, and I appreciate that. But there are some things I need to tell you.”

Shitty nods. “Dude, you can tell me anything. No judgment.” 

Jack takes a deep breath, and starts to talk. He tells Shitty about the attack, about how he was out of it for so long afterwards. About his fears that he would hurt someone. About the changes in his body – his sunlight sensitivity. What he has to eat.

Shitty looks equal parts fascinated and concerned.

“I’m stronger, and faster, though. I’m not sick. I’m okay as long as I drink blood and stay out of the sun.” 

Jack watches Shitty’s face as he processes the information Jack has given him.

“Wow. That is definitely some… unexpected shit.”

“Anything you want to ask me?”

Shitty looks up. “Bitty knows all this, right?” he asks carefully.

Jack nods.

“And he’s cool with it, obviously,” Shitty says, almost to himself.

“Yeah. Amazingly.”

Shitty shakes his head in disagreement. “Nah. That boy loves you with his whole self, man. You could’ve come back as a werewolf or an alien or any fucking thing, he’d still love you just the same.”

Jack considers this. It’s probably no more far-fetched than what actually happened, and Shitty’s probably right.

“You know I feel the same, right? I got your back, always.” Shitty moves into Jack’s space, pokes him in the chest. “Nothing’s gonna change my love for you, babe,” Shitty sings, off-tune and horrible. “Come on, let’s go show you off to Lardo. She’s dying to see your gorgeous face. Do you think you could put some bourbon in your blood? ‘Cause I brought a fresh bottle, straight from my grandfather’s stash. Bitty really likes it.”

“You’re ridiculous, Shits.”

“And you love me.”

“I do. But-” Jack hates that he has to say this, hates that he has any doubts, but he does “-you know you can’t tell anyone, right? I mean, tell Lardo, tell her all of it, but make sure she knows – nobody can know this, Shitty. I’ll probably tell my parents at some point, Bitty’ll kill me if I don’t, but no one else. No one can even know you’re talking to me, not outside of the people in this apartment right now.”

Shitty nods. “Attorney-client privilege. Cross my heart and hope to die. Scout’s honor. I do get this, Jack, I promise.”

Jack nods. It’s all he can ask. 

Shitty hops off the bed and grabs Jack’s arm, pulling him onto his feet and into another hug. Jack idly thinks to himself that he’s now doubled the number of people who have hugged him since January. 

When Shitty finally releases him, Jack steels himself and follows Shitty out into the living room. Shitty collapses on the couch next to Lardo, and Jack takes the old armchair. Bitty quickly joins him, perching on the arm of the chair, rubbing Jack’s shoulder and pressing a kiss to his hair.

“Everything go okay?” Bitty asks softly.

“Mm-hm. I told him.”

Bitty squeezes his shoulder hard, leans down and kisses his cheek. “I’m so proud of you, honey.”

“Yeah, well, it’s Shitty.”

“Still.”

Jack glances at Bitty. The smile on his face is lighting up the room like it always does. He feels so incredibly lucky to have him back. Jack breathes in and out, and relaxes slowly, as the conversation goes on around him. He can do this.

At some point Shitty and Lardo go outside – to have a smoke, they say, but also Jack assumes it’s so Shitty can tell Lardo the story – and Bitty slides into his lap.

“This all right?” Bitty asks, and Jack nods, his face so close to Bitty’s that his golden hair tickles his skin. “Just want to give you a proper kiss,” Bitty murmurs, and watches Jack for his response, his brown eyes open and earnest.

Jack answers by leaning in, pressing his cool lips to Bitty’s warm ones. Bitty hums into it and wraps his arms around Jack’s neck. It feels so good, being close to Bitty, so perfectly right, that Jack forgets why he has been denying himself this. He threads one hand into Bitty’s soft hair, holding his head close, and cups his cheek with the other. Bitty’s tongue flickers out, traces Jack’s bottom lip, and Jack opens his mouth and lets him in. 

It’s a rush, kissing Bitty. It always has been, but somehow it’s more now. More meaningful. More intense. More dangerous. Jack pulls back, ignoring Bitty’s whimper, and buries his face in Bitty’s neck.

“Love you, sweetheart,” Bitty soothes, stroking his neck and shoulders. “Love you so much.”

As the evening wears on, Jack is struck by how happy Bitty is. It makes him feel even worse that he’s been keeping Bitty isolated, and that if they continue on like this, Bitty won’t ever have a dinner party that requires more than a card table to seat his guests. At least, not if Jack is present – and if you could call it a dinner party, when Jack can’t eat dinner.

Shitty’s happy, too, in an uncomplicated way, as he prattles on about his classes and his classmates, and tries to engage Jack in conversation about the fine points of gender advocacy. Shitty knows who he’s dealing with, however, and isn’t daunted by the fact that Jack doesn’t say much at all; he’s had plenty of experience in holding a one-sided conversation with Jack Zimmermann. 

Lardo’s fairly calm, chatting with Bitty quietly about something she’s painting, but she glances over at Jack a few times with a relieved look on her face. At one point she gets up to use the bathroom and gives Bitty a hug, whispering something in his ear that makes him blush prettily and send a shy look Jack’s way. His friends are happy for them, Bitty’s happy to be with their friends, everyone is happy.

Except for Jack, who is slowly feeling anxiety overtake him. There’s no reason for it; Bitty is safe, his friends seem to have accepted his new state of being, and nothing is actually wrong. But his brain can’t get the message.

It gets worse when Shitty declares that it’s time for the bourbon. They have finished the two bottles of wine Shitty brought, and except for the glass Lardo had and the half glass Bitty sipped at, Shitty drank it all. Bitty and Lardo go into the kitchen to make a real simple syrup for mint juleps, leaving Jack alone with Shitty. It’s not as if Bitty has gone far – the kitchen is just a few feet from the chair where he’s sitting, and he can see and hear Bitty and Lardo talking and laughing as Lardo slices the mint into delicate slivers and Bitty stirs sugar into hot water. 

But without Bitty’s warm weight on his lap, and Lardo’s skill at redirecting Shitty when he gets off course, things take an uncomfortable turn. Shitty is chattering excitedly about the Falconers and a game he watched recently, and every mention of his former teammates makes Jack cringe. He knows he should just speak up and say something to Shitty, remind him that he disappeared on his team, left them without a captain and their star player, was at least partly responsible for their failure to make the playoffs last year, and so maybe this isn’t the best topic. But he can’t do it.

Then Shitty mentions that he and Tater haven’t talked as much lately, and he wonders if Tater is mad at him. He actually asks Jack if he has any clue what’s “gotten up Tater’s ass” and then stops mid-sentence, eyes wide, and runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, brah,” he says, “guess you haven’t talked to him either, huh? But maybe soon now, right? I know they must miss the hell out of you.” Shitty goes on, trying to convince Jack to show up at practice the next day – “I’ll come with you man, it’ll be crazy.”

Jack can feel his breathing speed up, and he knows what’s happening. He presses his palms hard against his thighs, tries to count in and out, but nothing is helping. Shitty is pacing around the small room now, demonstrating something that Dex apparently did which blew his mind when he went to a Samwell game last month. He gets close to Jack on every pass in front of the chair, swinging his arms –

Jack’s out of Bitty’s apartment, outside, and into the building across the road before he can even consciously recognize it as a plan. He runs up the stairs and swiftly finds the key hidden in the rickety wall sconce, lets himself in and bolts the door behind him. There’s a spot in the tiny studio apartment where he can curl up, in between the bed and the back wall, where he has spent too many hours. He folds himself into the narrow space, head on his knees, and tries to believe that his heart isn’t actually going to beat right out of his chest.

*****  
Jack doesn’t think about much of anything for a while, but when he does calm down, he hears a ping from his cell phone. There are three texts from Bitty.

_10:37 p.m. -- Jack? Where’d you go, sweetheart?_

_10:39 p.m. -- Are you okay? Shitty feels terrible. He didn’t mean to upset you._

_11:05 p.m. -- You’re scaring me, honey. Please come home._

Jack reads the messages with an increasing sense of dread, as whatever blood that remains in his body pools in his stomach. Bitty had asked him for one thing – after all Jack had done, after all he put his sweet boy through, just that one thing – and Jack had blown it.

He pushes aside the shade on the window that looks out on to the street. He can see the light in Bitty’s place, but they’ve been keeping the curtains closed to make sure Jack stayed hidden, so he can’t see what’s going on. Jack still feels shaky and sick from his panic attack, and the thought of going back to face Shitty and Lardo is nearly overwhelming, but he can’t make Bitty wait a moment longer.

When he buzzes at the front entrance, Bitty opens it instantly, and Jack shoots up the stairs. Bitty’s standing in the doorway, looking drained. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jack breathes out, standing in front of him, dizzy and lightheaded.

Bitty is stiff, as if he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. “In you come,” he says to Jack. It’s like he’s role playing himself, trying to be cheerful but not quite pulling it off. “And out you go.” Bitty motions to Shitty and Lardo, who murmur their goodnights and head out the door. “Safe trip home, y’all.”

Jack is shaking again, or still, and he stumbles as he steps inside. Bitty is there in an instant, grabbing Jack’s arm and then tugging him into the bedroom. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

Somehow Bitty knows exactly what he needs, lying down on the bed with him and wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Jack presses his face so tight to Bitty’s chest, he can almost tell himself that’s why it’s so hard to breathe, not the panic that’s bubbling up again.

It gets worse before it gets better, despite Bitty’s presence. The pain in his chest is insistent, and all he can do is gasp for breath and try to remember that there isn’t any real danger, it’s just his mind playing tricks on him. 

He hears Bitty’s sweet words, trying to calm him, but this is more than Bitty’s ever had to deal with before. “I’m here, Jack. Tell me what to do to help. Can you breathe with me?”

But he can’t, not yet, he can barely get in any air in at all. But Bitty persists, stroking his head gently, putting Jack’s hand on his chest, and trying to demonstrate. Jack tries, he does, but he can’t quite get it.

“It’s all right, sweetheart, you’re okay. It’s just us here. Take all the time you need.”

Finally, the weight on his chest dissipates, and he can draw in a full breath. He shudders as he lets it out, but continues, once, twice, three more times until he feels his body’s shaking slow. He can feel where Bitty’s sweater is wet underneath his face, from the tears he didn’t even realize were falling.

Bitty is kissing his forehead, cupping his cheek to turn his face towards his own. His brown eyes are so wide he looks like a Disney character. “Hey, there you are.” Bitty kisses him again, soft and sweet, then resettles Jack more comfortably on his shoulder. He lets him rest for a few minutes, then shifts to look at him.

“I’m gonna go get you something to drink. You okay here for a minute?”

Jack’s not sure which is worse – that Bitty is concerned about leaving him alone while he goes into the next room, or that he’s going to have to drink blood in front of him yet again – but as soon as Bitty suggests this, he knows it’s what he needs. He nods, tugging the blanket up over himself when Bitty moves away. 

Bitty returns quickly with a glass of ice water and a mug of blood. It’s got ice cubes in it, and Jack looks curiously at him.

“You’re dehydrated. You said you could drink water, so it’s a little diluted. But I didn’t know if it would taste weird, so I figured having it be good and cold might help.” Bitty shrugs, sitting on the bed next to him and holding out the mug. “Now drink up.”

Jack takes the mug and obeys, then downs the glass of water. It helps.

Bitty gathers the glasses and returns them to the kitchen, then stops in the bathroom for a minute (Jack can hear him brushing his teeth, and muttering to himself about needing to buy more toothpaste). Back in the bedroom, Bitty strips down to his boxers, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor, and climbs into bed with Jack. Bitty looks as exhausted as Jack feels.

“Good night, sweetheart.” Bitty drops a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek and curls up against his side. It seems like he’s about to go to sleep without another word, but Jack can’t leave it here. 

“It’s okay if you’re mad at me,” he says softly. “I know you’re trying to be perfect for me, to do everything right, and you are, but it’s okay to be mad.”

Bitty snorts a little and leans up on an elbow. His face is uncharacteristically unreadable. “Why should I be mad?”

“I broke my promise. I left without saying goodbye.”

Bitty’s expression morphs into confusion, and then he shakes his head. “Wait, you think I should be mad at _you_ for tonight?”

“Um, yes?”

Bitty wraps a hand around the back of Jack’s head and kisses him soundly, practically throwing himself on top of Jack as he does it. “You have lost your mind, Mr. Zimmermann. On what planet would I be mad at you? You had a panic attack – the worst I’ve ever seen, it looked absolutely horrible, you were so-” He chokes and throws his arms around Jack, squeezing him tight. “I love you, honey, I love you so much. I’m not mad at you. I promise. Not at all.”

“But I shouldn’t have left like that.”

Bitty sits up, taking one of Jack’s hands in both of his. “You had good reason.”

“But-”

“And you came back, not thirty minutes later. Even when you knew it would probably send your anxiety through the roof.”

Jack squeezes Bitty’s hand, turns his own to lace his long fingers with Bitty’s slender ones. “I admit I didn’t really anticipate how bad that would be.”

Bitty hums in sympathy and pets Jack’s shoulder with his free hand, then lets out a long breath. “But you’re right. I am mad.”

Jack tenses, waiting for Bitty to chew him out.

“Not at you, silly goose,” Bitty says gently, stroking Jack’s face until he relaxes. “I’m mad at Shitty, for being so thoughtless. He’s a grown-up, he can’t blame his shenanigans on drinking too much anymore. He’s so level-headed when he’s sober, I don’t know what’s going on with him.” Bitty pauses and rubs his eyes. “And to be fair, I’m mad at myself.”

Jack sits up a little, trying to catch Bitty’s eye. “What? You didn’t do anything.”

Bitty shakes his head, looking down at their entwined hands. “That’s just it. I didn’t do anything. I just let it happen. I made you do this, I set up this whole event, then when things started to go wrong I didn’t do anything. I was too busy gabbing with Lardo – I should have made Shitty stop.”

“Bits, this is not your fault,” Jack says firmly, sitting up until he can see Bitty properly. “Hey, look at me.”

Bitty does, nervous and apologetic. 

“I’m actually glad we did this tonight.”

Bitty’s eyebrows draw together in confusion; it’s more adorable than anything else, but Jack knows better than to mention that right now. “You are?”

He truly is, much for the reasons he was thinking about earlier today; this afternoon seems like a lifetime ago. But he realizes he has never really articulated these thoughts to Bitty. “I am. This-” Jack waves his hands at himself, shakes his head, “this is me, now. And for whatever reason, you’re okay with it.”

“I _love_ you,” Bitty insists, and Jack grins, kissing him on the nose.

“I know. But you need more than just me in your life. And if we can’t find a way to include Shitty and Lardo… well, I’m just glad you encouraged me, that’s all.”

“But Shitty was such an idiot.”

“Bits, he was just scared.”

“Scared?”

Jack nods. “Think about it. I know it doesn’t happen very often, but when Shitty really miscalculates, that’s usually why. He got hit with a load of unbelievable information, and pretended to be fine with it, but I think he was actually pretty stressed out.”

Bitty considers this for a minute, then looks even sadder. “Oh my. Jack-” he slides off the bed, wringing his hands together. “I’ve got to find my phone and text him. I’ll be right back.”

Jack pushes himself out of bed as well, changes into a long sleeved t-shirt and sleep pants, and goes out to find Bitty in the kitchen, staring at his phone.

“I said some really mean things to Shitty tonight, while you were gone.” He looks dejected.

“He’ll forgive you, Bits. Lardo’s probably ripping him a new one as we speak, anyway.” Jack tugs at Bitty’s shoulder, and Bitty flops against him, warm and soft and sweet. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”


	18. Two Steps Forward

It’s early December, and Bitty rolls over in bed, reaching for Jack. He’s not there, but Bitty can hear some noise coming from the kitchen, so he doesn’t worry. If Jack wants a midnight snack, that’s his business.

Bitty flops over again, tugging the comforter up around his neck, and then sits up, blinking. Jack doesn’t eat midnight snacks. He doesn’t eat snacks, period.

He extracts himself from his blankets and wanders out of the bedroom, yawning. The clock on the microwave reads 1:15 a.m.; Bitty shudders when he remembers he has to go to the bakery in just a few more hours. 

Jack is standing by the kitchen counter, lit only by the thin glow of the streetlight outside their window shining through the curtains. At least the city finally fixed that light. 

Bitty rubs his eyes and tries to wake himself up, at least enough to form words. Although the sight of Jack standing there, a small smile on his face, kind of takes his breath away. “Hey, gorgeous.” Bitty comes up next to Jack and smiles at him. “What’cha doing?”

Jack looks surprised to see him, and freezes for a minute. The way he’s standing blocks whatever is on the counter in front of him, but from the aroma, it’s definitely not a mug of blood. 

“Jack?”

Jack glances down, then steps back, gesturing to his plate. There’s a slice of the black pudding they had put in the freezer a few weeks ago, with a large bite taken out of it. Huh.

“Did you eat it?”

Jack nods, the smile on his face growing. “Yeah. I had an ounce last night, and two tonight.”

Bitty doesn’t even question how Jack knows exactly how much he ate – the man used to be obsessed with his diet plans. Instead, he’s much more focused on how excited Jack is. “It didn’t make you sick?”

Jack shakes his head. “No – I don’t know if it’s all the blood in it, or because it’s just a small amount. But, Bitty-” he tilts his head back and exhales, “I can’t tell you how good it tasted.”

Bitty smiles, and slides his arms loosely around Jack’s waist. “I’m so glad.” 

Jack ducks his head, and then nuzzles at Bitty’s messy hair. “Me too.” He pulls Bitty closer. “I thought maybe I’d be more comfortable with people if I could be less… different… around them. I wanted to experiment with eating something, and this seemed like a good place to start.”

Bitty stands on his toes and presses a kiss to Jack’s lips. “So we’ll have to work up to mini-pies, then?”

Jack grins, and Bitty wants to cheer, Jack looks so delighted with himself.

Jack leans down for another kiss, and Bitty is happy to oblige. Jack sets a hand at the small of Bitty’s back, supporting Bitty as he bends and they both deepen the kiss. Bitty moves his hands up to lace them around Jack’s neck, and as his back arches, his hips move forward. Then Jack’s hand is on his ass, pulling him flush against his thigh. The pressure is just right, and Bitty can’t help but lean into it. “Ahh, Jack…” 

They continue kissing, Jack licking into Bitty’s mouth and nibbling on his lips. Bitty can feel himself getting hard, and he knows Jack can too; it’s further than they’ve gone since Jack’s return, and he suddenly needs to check, to be sure Jack means for this to happen. He breaks off, nearly panting, as he finds Jack’s eyes.

“’S’okay,” Jack murmurs, dipping down to suck at Bitty’s lip. “I’m good, if you want to keep going…”

A shiver runs through him at Jack’s words. “Lord, yes.” Bitty gets a hand around the back of Jack’s head, pressing kisses to his mouth and jaw. 

Jack keeps a hold on Bitty’s ass, his big hand squeezing rhythmically as he pulls Bitty against him, his other hand moving from his cheek, down his arm, up his side. Bitty loses himself in it, Jack’s arms around him, Jack’s hands everywhere, his body flush against Bitty. At this angle, it’s just Bitty that’s getting direct contact right where he wants it, but Jack seems content to continue like this, concentrating on Bitty’s pleasure.

It’s all Bitty can do to stay upright, as Jack brings him closer and closer, just the thin fabric of their sleep pants and boxers separating them. Bitty’s not really kissing him anymore now, just breathing against Jack’s chest, occasionally nibbling at his collarbone. Before Bitty can really think about what’s coming next, Jack licks a long stripe across his hand and places it at the drawstring on Bitty’s pants.

“Okay?” he asks. At Bitty’s nod, Jack slides his hand under Bitty’s waistband, under his boxers, and finally wraps it around Bitty’s cock. His hand is cool on Bitty’s overheated skin, and Bitty moans with pleasure, the sensation washing over him in waves as his hips thrust forward again and again. 

“Jack, please, keep going, Jack, oh lord, right there, Jack.” Bitty knows he’s babbling now, but he can’t help it, and he doesn’t care to stop. Jack likes it when he speaks up during sex. It entertained them both mightily when they discovered just how vocal Bitty could be, although given how chatty he is ordinarily it really shouldn’t have been much of a surprise.

Bitty is close, so close, falling apart in Jack’s arms, helpless to do anything but sway against him and let his boyfriend bring him over the edge. “Jack, oh my, oh, oh, Jack.”

“I’ve got you, Bits, it’s okay,” Jack whispers in his ear, and then Bitty is coming, all over Jack’s hand and in his boxers and panting up against his boyfriend in the kitchen of his tiny little apartment -- and it is glorious.

He sags against Jack, who immediately scoops him up and carries him into the bedroom, darting into the bathroom to get a damp towel. Bitty giggles as Jack tries to get his pants off to clean him up. 

“Guess we went about this in the wrong order,” Jack mumbles, but it’s all good, it’s wonderful, there is nothing that could have made this night better.

Bitty says as much as he squirms through Jack’s ministrations, after which Jack gets a clean pair of boxers from the drawer and playfully tosses them in Bitty’s face. When he’s finally clean and clothed again, Bitty tugs Jack close against him and sighs contentedly. “Sure you don’t want…?” Bitty offers with a vague wave towards Jack’s body, wondering where his manners have gone.

But Jack is clearly quite satisfied with the night’s events. “Just want to hold you and sleep,” he says softly, carding his fingers through Bitty’s damp hair. “God, Bitty, I love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.” Bitty curls up close and tucks his head in the crook of Jack’s neck. “We’re never going to be apart again, okay?” It’s not really something one can promise, but if he has any say in it, it will be true.

“Okay,” Jack breathes out, planting a kiss on Bitty’s forehead. “Okay.”

*****  
Bitty’s at the bakery the next morning, taking a break with a cup of coffee and a freshly baked red bean filled donut, when he gets a text from Jack.

**I called my parents.**

Bitty’s heart speeds up, and he has to remind himself that this is a good thing. Definitely, probably, a good thing. 

**What did they say?**

There’s a pause, and Bitty badly wants to call Jack, but Jack must have chosen to text for a reason.

**They want to talk to you. I told them you’d be home around noon.**

It’s not exactly the detail Bitty was looking for, but Jack can fill him in later. Bitty can’t quite think of what else to say. He wants so badly for Jack to have the support of his parents, but he’s also worried that they will make things more difficult for him. Jack has been so scared to reveal himself to anyone, and the Zimmermanns do tend to make a splash wherever they go. Although clearly they have circled the wagons for Jack before; there’s no reason to believe they won’t do so again.

**Bitty? That’s okay, right? You’ll talk to them?**

Bitty shakes his head at himself. **Of course it’s okay, sweetheart. I love your parents, and I haven’t talked to them in months.** Bitty winces as soon as he hits send; he knows Jack feels guilty because he thinks he is “isolating” him; Jack doesn’t understand that Bitty feels far less alone now than he had the whole time Jack was gone. 

**I’m making you an omelet** is the non sequitur Jack replies with.

**You don’t have to bribe me to talk to your parents.**

**That’s not why.**

Jack makes lunch for Bitty most days when he works at the bakery; Bitty’s just chirping him. And maybe fishing a little.

**Then why?**

His fish bites.

**Because you’re adorable when you eat.**

Bitty is just about to sweet talk him back when Jack sends another text.

**And you need more protein.**

Bitty groans, and gets back to work. The cinnamon-cranberry muffins he’s perfecting won’t cook themselves, and he’ll worry about talking with Jack’s parents when the time comes.

*****  
As it turns out, the time comes far too quickly. Bitty is frankly surprised at how nervous he is, pacing around the apartment in tight circles as the clock approaches noon.

“What do you want me to tell them?”

Jack is sitting on the couch, hands pressed to his thighs. He’s nervous too. “Anything.”

“Anything?”

“I’m not going to censor you, Bits.”

“But what did _you_ tell them?”

Jack wrings his hands together, notices that he’s doing it, and places them back on his legs, palms down. “I don’t actually remember.”

Bitty stops and stares at his boyfriend. “You don’t remember?” His voice slides up to an uncomfortably high note.

Jack is in front of him in an instant, his hands on his shoulders. “I told them not to tell anyone anything about me, not even that they talked to me, and then I started talking about the attack…” Jack purses his lips in frustration. “But it’s okay, it doesn’t matter. Tell them the truth. As much as you think they should know.”

Bitty sucks in a long breath. “I don’t know whether to be annoyed at you for making me do this or touched that you trust me so much.”

Jack harrumphs. “I pick the second one.”

“’Course you do.” Bitty resumes his pacing. It’s not very satisfying – the room is very small. “Jack?”

“Hm?”

“Have you thought about what to do if they want you to…?”

“Go public? Tell the police? Check into a clinic, under medical supervision?” Jack’s face is grim. “I have, Bits. I’ll just go back to one of my hiding places.”

“Across the street?”

Jack shakes his head. “No. Where I stayed before I came back to Providence.”

Bitty comes over to Jack and sits next to him. “You’ll tell me where you were someday, right?”

Jack tilts his head at him. “I never told you?”

Bitty can’t quite tell if he’s being chirped, but then the phone rings. Bitty squares his shoulders and goes to pick it up – it’s in the bedroom, charging. Jack stays out in the living room. 

“Hello?”

“Eric? It’s Alicia and Bob,” Alicia says, needlessly. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m really good,” Bitty breathes out. “How are y’all?” He walks back into the living room, sees Jack’s look of surprise as he returns, and settles himself on Jack’s lap, his back against the arm of the couch. “We’re doing this together,” he whispers in Jack’s ear, as Alicia and Bob chatter nervously into the phone, saying something about the weather, and Bitty’s job.

“You don’t want privacy?” Jack whispers back.

Bitty shakes his head at him. He’s not sure how to navigate this, and he wants Jack to be present for it, so he can make sure he’s okay with whatever happens; he knows Jack can hear both sides of the conversation, with them sitting close, and it’s the way he wants it. 

Bitty gives Jack what he hopes is a reassuring smile and focuses on what Alicia is asking him. “Yes, ma’am, still working at the bakery, and writing my column. I’m doing a special series on a traditional English Christmas, with some very interesting recipes. You should look for it.”

The small talk dies off after a few minutes, and Bitty imagines that Alicia and Bob are giving each other the “no, you do it,” look.

“Eric, is Jack really with you?” Alicia’s voice is soft, and Bitty’s heart breaks for her.

“He is. He’s right here, as a matter of fact.”

He hears Alicia sigh in a whoosh of breath. “Is he all right?”

“He is.”

“Eric, Jack told us some rather fanciful things, when we talked this morning.”

Jack cringes, and Bitty takes his hand with the one that isn’t holding the phone. “It may have been hard to believe, but I’m sure it was true.”

“Bitty? It’s Bob.”

“Yes sir, I know.”

“You’re really sure Jack is healthy? Aware?”

“He’s not delusional, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bitty says. Jack grips his hand tightly. “Jack’s been living here with me for almost a month. I’ve spent enough time with him to know he is perfectly sane.”

There’s a long pause.

“Eric, he said he was attacked,” Alicia says. “And it had changed him. Made it so he can only…” she trails off. 

“Drink blood. It’s true.” Bitty remembers trying to get Jack to tell him what happened, and how frustrating it was to try to extract information out of him. “Look, I can give you the whole story, but you have to promise to really try to believe me, okay?”

“Bitty?” It’s Bob, and Bitty’s stomach clenches. “Be straight with us, please? We’re listening.”

“You’re alone, right? No one can hear this?”

“Of course,” Bob says tightly.

Fine. Bitty glances at Jack, who has been listening intently. Jack gives him a firm nod.

“Jack was attacked that day when he was out running. Three men held him against his will for a week. They infected him with their blood, and now, he’s kind of a vampire.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Alicia speaks up. “You mean, he’s got HIV?”

“No, no, not at all.” This had actually come up a few weeks ago, when Bitty suddenly made the connection himself, wondering if this type of blood transfusion could be dangerous in yet another way; Jack had assured him that didn’t have the disease, explaining how he had sent in an anonymous blood sample to a clinic in California to get tested. Not only had it come back negative, the clinic hadn’t noted anything unusual in his blood. Whatever strange thing made Jack the way he was, apparently the clinic didn’t pick it up in its routine tests.

“Then why do you say he’s a vampire?” Alicia sounds like she’s getting angry.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be flippant, but it’s the easiest way to understand it. Jack has to drink blood. He can’t eat food, at least not more than a bite, and we only figured that last part out yesterday. The sun burns his skin. But he moves faster than before, and his hearing is excellent.”

“My son is not a vampire,” Bob says coldly, and Bitty is truly thankful that they are having this conversation long distance.

“Well, of course not, not really, vampires are fictional,” Bitty says. He can feel Jack tensing underneath him. “And he’s not dead, obviously. His heart beats just fine.” Bitty’s voice goes soft as he says this, and he presses a hand to Jack’s chest.

Bob starts to protest again, and Jack takes the phone from Bitty, speaking into it in a rapid burst of Québécois. Bitty catches _je ne suis pas fou_ – “I’m not crazy” – and _je vous dis la vérité_ – “I’m telling the truth” but most of it goes by too quickly for him to understand, although his name is mentioned rather frequently. They continue for several long minutes, Jack finally calming down, and switching back to English.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. But I was too worried that you’d...” Jack sighs, leaning the side of his head against Bitty’s. “No, I know. I know you’d never…” He quiets, just listening, and then turns to Bitty. “They want to talk to you again.” He hands the phone over.

This time, when Alicia speaks, her voice is apologetic. “We didn’t mean to interrogate you, Eric.”

“Don’t y’all worry about that,” Bitty responds. He’s relieved that they no longer seem to be questioning Jack’s sanity, or his own.

“You have to let us know what we can do. Jack wouldn’t say, but I know you’re the practical one – there must be something.”

Bitty thinks about doctors, and the media, and all the problems they have yet to solve. “I’ll think about it, I promise.”

Alicia lets out a strange sort of laugh that’s a little too close to a sob. “Tell him again that we love him, please? No matter what. I’m sorry we questioned him, but - it’s just so hard to take in.”

“I understand,” Bitty says. “But - think of it this way.” Jack’s eyes are closed, and Bitty strokes his hand along Jack’s cheek. “Jack never would have stayed away from us for so long unless he had a very good reason. Trust him.”

Jack’s eyes open, and he looks at Bitty intensely while Bitty brings the conversation with Jack’s parents to an end. “I don’t know what we’re doing over Christmas,” Bitty says in response to Alicia’s question about whether they can visit for the holiday. “I’ll talk it over with Jack and let you know.”

Bitty hangs up the phone, and sets it down on the coffee table with a sigh. When he looks back up, Jack is staring at him with that same intense gaze, blue eyes shining. “What is it?” Bitty asks.

“What you said – they should trust me.”

Bitty shuffles on Jack’s lap, resting his hand lightly on Jack’s chest. He likes to feel the vibration when Jack talks. “Yes?”

“Is that what you thought? When I talked to George, but not to you?”

Bitty pauses and thinks. He knows how guilty Jack feels, and he doesn’t want to make it worse, but he deserves an honest answer. “Sometimes. Other times I was just so angry… I couldn’t understand why you didn’t call me, too. Why you didn’t just come home. But I had to believe you had a good reason for what you were doing. I figured you thought you were acting in my best interest. Shitty actually made me see it.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Shitty?”

“Yup. He said you were struggling with what to do, that’s why you reached out to George and your parents – you didn’t have to do that, you could have just kept silent, and we would have eventually assumed you were dead. But you let us know you were alive. So we just had to trust that you were trying to work it out.” 

Bitty’s throat is getting tight, and he digs his face against Jack’s chest. “And you did. You got through it, and you came back to me. I’m so proud of you.” He sucks in a shaky breath as Jack wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. “Thank you for coming back to me, Jack.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

They sit together for a few minutes, quietly taking comfort in each other, until Bitty shifts again and gasps at the pins and needles in his leg. “Fell asleep,” he mutters, and Jack snorts into his hair.

“I was actually going to suggest a nap.” Jack helps Bitty stand up, and grins as he shakes out his leg. “Guess your leg got there first.”

“Stop laughing at me, Mr. Zimmermann, and help me walk.”

Jack just grins wider, but he puts an arm around Bitty’s waist and half carries him the few steps into the bedroom. They curl up together under the covers, Bitty tucked against Jack’s side. Bitty wonders how things are going to change, now that Jack’s parents are in on the truth. He has a feeling Alicia isn’t going to be content with being a bystander, not if she thinks she can do something to improve the situation. 

But it’s cozy and safe under the blankets with Jack, and Bitty’s been awake since 3:45 in the morning – and he hadn’t gotten much sleep before that either. He can practically feel himself blushing as he remembers Jack getting him off in the kitchen. He’s got to get some sleep now. He’ll return to the list of problems in his head when he wakes up.

“Go to sleep, Bits,” Jack whispers, petting his head. “We can talk more when you wake up.”

“It’s like you could hear me worrying.” Suddenly Bitty opens his eyes and pokes Jack in the chest. “Wait, you can’t hear me thinking, right? You can’t read my mind?”

Jack laughs, the force of it shaking Bitty where he’s leaning against his side. “No, I can’t _actually_ hear what you’re thinking.”

“You say that as if it’s any more unbelievable than all the other stuff.”

Jack nuzzles at Bitty’s hair. “I’m sorry I laughed. But honestly, most of what you’re thinking shows on your face clear as day. It doesn’t take a mind reader to see that you’re concerned about what my parents are going to do.”

“Am I wrong to be concerned?”

Jack shrugs. “Probably not. But I’m willing to give them a little credit. I wouldn’t have told them if I didn’t think they would behave.” He fusses with the blanket, tucks it closer around Bitty. “And in any case, we can talk about it more after you get some sleep. You didn’t get much last night.”

Bitty can tell from the tone in Jack’s voice that he’s thinking about their kitchen shenanigans as well. “Don’t you start with me, not if you actually want me to sleep.”

“I do, actually.” Jack is more serious now, but he presses a warm kiss to Bitty’s lips. “Though I wouldn’t mind keeping you up all night again sometime.”

Bitty beams, quickly kissing him back and settling down against his chest again. “I’m gonna take you up on that offer, mister.” He yawns, big and noisy, and Jack laughs again, this time soft and sweet. “But not right now.”

“Sweet dreams, Bitty.”

“Sweet dreams, Jack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't butcher the French too badly! Come visit me and reblog over on tumblr [here](http://flowerfan2.tumblr.com/post/149364941062/heart-of-ice-ch-1824-two-steps-forward)  
> (flowerfan2) if you're so inclined - and thank you so much for all the lovely comments, I can't tell you how much I appreciate them!


	19. Maybe I Want To

Bitty wakes up later that afternoon with his head pillowed on Jack’s thigh. Jack is sitting up against the headboard, reading a book. 

Bitty doesn’t move for a few moments, just enjoying being close to Jack. But he’s distracted by the placement of his face so close to areas of Jack’s anatomy he hasn’t been allowed to admire for quite some time. 

Slowly, not wanting to startle Jack, he rests his hand just over Jack’s knee, then moves it up his thigh, trailing a fingernail along the seam in Jack’s jeans. 

Jack shudders, then puts a hand firmly over Bitty’s, stopping its progress.

“You don’t want me to touch you?” Bitty asks, looking up to see Jack’s reaction.

Jack’s eyes flit away from him, then back. “I’m nervous.”

Bitty immediately takes his hand away and sits up next to him, not wanting to push even a little. “Good nervous or bad nervous?” he asks gently.

Jack just purses his lips and looks down.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to tell me a blessed thing, if you’d rather not. But it might help if you could tell me more about what you’re feeling.”

“I told you before.” Jack is looking anywhere but at Bitty, and is so clearly uncomfortable Bitty wishes he hadn’t started them down this path. But now they’re here, and it won’t do any good to ignore it.

“Told me what?”

“It’s possible that when I get sufficiently aroused, I’ll react differently than I used to.”

It’s not as if Bitty had forgotten their previous conversation about this, he had just hoped that whatever had gone on between then so far had assuaged Jack’s fears. “You’re still afraid you’ll bite me.”

Jack pulls his legs towards him and curls up, face hidden in his knees.

“I understand that you’re afraid because you don’t know how you’ll react,” Bitty says slowly. “But remember what I said before? I’m willing to try whatever you want. A little bite in the rush of things might not be so bad,” Bitty says carefully. “It might even be exciting. And you really don’t know how you’ll feel unless we try it.”

“But it’s not like I _want_ to want that,” Jack says, looking at Bitty with his brows drawn. 

“You can’t really know yet, can you?”

“I just hate for this, between us, to be so tainted. Contaminated.” Jack looks heartbroken.

“Oh no, Jack, no.” Bitty sits up on his knees and wraps his arms around Jack’s shoulders. “You are not contaminated. I won’t allow you to see yourself that way. You’re still you.” Bitty coaxes Jack’s head up from his knees. “I love you, sweetheart.” He kisses Jack softly, then shifts until he’s got his own back up against the headboard and Jack is leaning against his chest.

Bitty rubs Jack’s back and tries to soothe him, but his mind is racing as well. There’s still so much he doesn’t know about what Jack went through. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, honey, how’d you learn about this? From the guys who attacked you?”

“Not just from them.”

Bitty runs his fingers through Jack’s hair, settles his hand on the back of his neck. “Oh?”

Jack draws in a deep breath and lets it out, warm against Bitty’s chest. “After it happened, I thought I’d go hide out in my parents’ summer home on Prince Edward Island. I wasn’t really thinking clearly; it was a lot further away, and I didn’t have much of a plan. But it was always a refuge for me, so I headed north.”

“You were at your parents’ house all this time and they didn’t know it?”

Jack looks up at Bitty and shakes his head. “No, I never made it that far. I ran out of cash quickly. I was starving, and, well, petrified. I didn’t understand what had happened to me, or what might still happen. One night when I was hitching a ride up near Augusta, a man approached me and asked if he could buy me a cup of coffee. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid, but so exhausted I couldn’t think straight. He insisted, so I said yes. We sat in a roadside diner for half an hour, him watching me not drink my coffee, before he told me he was like me. At first I thought he meant gay, but then he disappeared and came back a minute later without me having seen him come or go.”

“He was a vampire too?”

“Yes.”

“Was he… kind to you?” Bitty’s stomach clenches as he asks this question – the whole story is sounding a little too much like Jack was taken advantage of by a predator.

“He was very good to me, actually. He drove me to his house, which was about two hours away, in the middle of nowhere, Maine. He immediately heated up some blood for me - I must have drank six pints that night. I stayed in his guest room for months. He was away a lot, but he set it up so I could do what he called his ‘day job,’ working remotely for a health care company, entering medical record data.”

Bitty wrinkles his nose. “It sounds boring, but I guess you needed to make money.”

Jack nods. “It was beyond boring, but definitely better than the ideas I came up with. And it gave me something to focus on for a few hours a day, so I didn’t just panic. Ted still got paid by the company, and gave me cash for the work I did.”

“Ted?”

Jack grins. “He does not care for Edward Cullen jokes.”

Bitty is glad the mood has lightened, but realizes they have swayed a bit from the original point of the conversation. “So Ted told you more about what to expect?”

“Yeah. He told me what he knew, anyway, how things had worked for him.”

“Did he tell you about… sex?”

Jack sits up and rubs his face. “Sort of, but not from personal experience. He was actually pretty much of a loner before he was attacked, driving a truck all over the country. Someone infected him one night at a rest stop in the Midwest. He still picks up extra money by driving, he says it’s less tedious than data entry, but it works better in the winter where the nights are longer.”

“And… the biting part?”

Jack makes a face at Bitty and shrugs. “He met people sometimes, driving his truck. One was like us, had been for a while, and she rode with Ted for a week or two. Told him all kinds of stories, including about her sex life.”

Bitty can’t resist asking. “Did she and Ted…?”

Jack smiles and shakes his head. “Nope. Or at least, if they did, Ted wouldn’t admit it.”

Bitty thinks over Jack’s words, imagines a lonely man driving a truck through the night, no one waiting up for him. No Bitty to tell him he’s still perfect, no matter what unusual dietary issues he might have.

“How long had Ted been like this?”

“Almost ten years. He’s in his thirties now, although he looks younger.”

“Don’t tell me you’re not going to age,” Bitty says thoughtfully, and Jack laughs. 

“Would it hurt so much for you to catch up to me a little?” he asks. “But no, no one’s said anything about not aging.”

“Well, good, I guess.” Bitty takes Jack’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “So I guess it was Ted’s place you were talking about when you said you had places you could go to hide?”

Jack nods. “If I had to, I could get to Ted’s pretty easily, and he’d let me stay there, or help me find someplace else to live.” Jack looks down at their joined hands, and mumbles something else that Bitty can’t quite make out.

“What was that, honey?”

Jack looks at him, nervous. “He’d help you, too. Us. If something went wrong, and… if you came with me.”

Bitty frowns at Jack. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

Jack immediately begins apologizing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have - I would never ask you to run away, that wouldn’t be fair. But if you had to, not that you’d have to, you have a normal life without me-”

“Jack,” Bitty sighs out, putting a finger to Jack’s lips to silence him. “You wouldn’t even have to ask. If for any reason, anytime, you have to high tail it out of here, there is nothing on God’s green earth that would stop me from coming with you. Understand?”

Jack’s smile starts slowly, but then spreads across his face. “I’m trying.”

“Good.” Bitty presses a soft kiss to Jack’s mouth, and then, without warning, his stomach grumbles loudly. “Well, guess it’s time we got out of bed. First one to the kitchen gets to pick the movie!”

Bitty realizes his mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth; he might have been faster than Jack once, but now he doesn’t have a chance. 

Bitty makes himself a simple grilled cheese for dinner while Jack has his usual, leaning against the island in the kitchen and not bothering with utensils. Jack carefully dips the corner of Bitty’s sandwich into his mug and takes a tiny nibble, which pleases them both.

Later, curled up on the couch with Jack, Bitty’s mind can’t help but drift to the reason for their afternoon’s deep talk – Jack is scared to have sex with him.

As they watch Russell Crowe ably command his vessel through a naval battle during the Napoleonic Wars, Jack occasionally commenting on the challenges of a military that zig-zagged across the ocean with relatively glacial slowness, Bitty decides he needs to make something clear.

Jack is lying behind Bitty on the couch, one arm draped across Bitty’s stomach to hold him in place. Bitty twists to see him, their faces almost comically close together.

“Jack?”

“Hm?” Jack shifts, sitting up a little so he can look at Bitty without his eyes crossing. “Want to put on something else? I know you’re just humoring me by watching this.”

Bitty smiles. “No, this is fine. I quite like Mr. Crowe.” He smirks a bit, but then remembers why he spoke up. “I want to talk to you, though.”

Jack’s face turns serious, and he pulls the arm that was over Bitty back towards his body. “What is it?”

Bitty strokes a finger down the side of Jack’s face, over his furrowed brow, and cups his cheek. “I love having sex with you. But I don’t need it.”

Jack’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I mean it. I love to make you feel good, like that.” Jack’s pupils dilate as Bitty pauses, and he quickly goes on, not meaning to flirt right now. It’s not the point he’s trying to make. “But if there are sexual things you don’t want to do yet – or ever – don’t think that’s a deal-breaker for me. Because it’s not. I love you for who you are - my love, my brave, strong, caring boyfriend - not for what we do in bed.”

Jack just stares at him for a minute, taking it in, and then swallows hard. “Thank you.”

Bitty nods, bumping his nose against Jack’s. “Of course.”

“But…” Jack rubs the back of his neck, flops his hand back down at his side, then grabs for Bitty’s and holds it tight, shaking just a little. “What if… what if I do want to try it? And… see what happens?”

Bitty grins, his whole body tingling with anticipation as he presses forward, kissing Jack fiercely until he’s forced to break off and take a breath, panting into Jack’s neck. “That works too.”


	20. Recognizing Progress

They don’t actually have sex that night, just make out for a while on the couch. The couch isn’t really big enough for this particular activity, and when Bitty falls on the floor with a thump, they laugh together and conclude that their foray into new sexual adventures should wait until they are both a little more well rested and Bitty doesn’t have to get up in the wee hours to work at the bakery.

But when Jack walks him to work that morning, keeping close to Bitty instead of trailing him or watching from some invisible hiding spot, Bitty knows they’ve made a breakthrough. Jack stops when the bakery is in sight, its cheerful yellow and white awning just a few stores away, and leans down to give Bitty a fleeting kiss.

“Have fun baking,” Jack says softly, tugging at Bitty’s hat. His hand is cold where it brushes Bitty’s cheek; Jack’s not wearing his gloves.

Quickly, before Jack can leave, Bitty puts a hand to the back of his neck and pulls him down for a kiss. He sweeps his lips quickly over Jack’s, then whispers a question intently in his ear.

“Do you want to let me know when you’re ready, or should I suggest it when I think it’s a good time?” 

Jack knows immediately what Bitty is talking about as he pulls back, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. “Um… you suggest a time.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Bitty steps away and runs a hand down Jack’s leather-clad arm, giving his hand a squeeze. “See you later.” He turns, waves at Jack over his shoulder, and heads toward Lily’s, his boyfriend standing stock still on the sidewalk watching him go.

Bitty smiles as he greets Aldo and sheds his coat. He knows he’ll be thinking of Jack far too often this morning, but he doesn’t regret it. He understands now that the whole sex thing had been weighing on Jack’s mind, and he has the feeling that just talking about it the way they have has been good for Jack.

And, to be completely fair with himself, he’s looking forward to their green-lighted sexytimes. He grins a little, pleased with himself for asking Jack who should initiate things. Because as much as Bitty doesn’t want to push Jack, he also knows that Jack may be waiting for further agreement from Bitty, even though Bitty has, in his own mind, agreed one hundred percent. If they wait for Jack to make the first move, it could take forever. 

But when Bitty gets home after his shift at the bakery, sex is the last thing on Jack’s mind. He’s pacing the living room when Bitty comes inside, but freezes when he sees him, his hair sticking up from where Bitty assumes he’s been running his fingers through it.

“Jack? Honey? What is it?”

Jack glances down at him, eyes nervous, and begins pacing the small apartment. “You left your phone here.”

“I know, I realized it about an hour in. You knew where to find me, though, and there wasn’t any easy way to let you know. I didn’t worry you, did I?”

Jack shakes his head. “No, no, that’s not it.”

Bitty corners Jack as he rounds the edge of the kitchen island and puts his palms on his chest. He’s wearing an old blue and green flannel that makes Bitty think of their days at Samwell, and the material is soft on his hands. “Jack, what’s wrong?”

Jack lets Bitty lead him to the couch, and sits down with a sigh. “Your parents called.”

Bitty’s stomach drops. It’s not as if he’s been avoiding talking to his parents… except that he kind of has. “Did, um, did you talk to them?”

Jack’s head snaps up. “What? No - I saw ‘Coach’ come up on your screen. How could I talk to them?”

With your words, Bitty thinks unhelpfully, and then sags down on the couch next to Jack. “They’ve been leaving me messages.”

Jack gives him his best “please, continue” look.

“About Christmas. They want to know if I’m coming home.”

“What is it with parents and Christmas?” Jack mutters, and Bitty laughs, the tension in his chest easing.

“I think they just want to be together with their kids, that’s all.” He pauses, bumping his shoulder up against Jack’s. “Because, you know, they love us.”

Jack nods and rests his cheek on Bitty’s head. “You need to call them back.”

“I know.”

Bitty procrastinates for much of the afternoon. He’s just not sure what he’s going to say. He knows he’s not going home to Madison for Christmas, and he’s not letting his parents come to Providence. But he’s not sure what he can possibly tell them to explain his position.

He’s on his laptop in the bedroom, pretending to write part of an article about traditional English Christmas desserts. Jack is supposedly reading on the couch, but Bitty counts six times in an hour that Jack wanders around the tiny apartment looking for something to do (including sticking his head in the bedroom to check on Bitty each time, which is how he knows Jack isn’t doing much reading).

Bitty puts down his laptop and wanders out into the living room. Jack is flipping through a photography book without even looking at it. It makes a neat kind of noise as the pages turn.

“You don’t have any outlets to relieve your anxiety any more, do you?”

Jack looks at Bitty strangely, then closes the book and sets it down on his lap.

“What do you mean?”

Bitty hadn’t thought it was a particularly confusing comment. Maybe Jack doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. He sits down next to Jack, puts a hand on his thigh to stop it from bumping up and down. “Everyone has things they do when they’re stressed.” He shrugs. “I bake.”

Jack nods in agreement. This isn’t exactly a secret.

“You used to have all kinds of things to do to release tension – hockey, running, working out.”

Jack nods again.

“More hockey.”

Jack smiles, but it disappears quickly. “I can’t exactly go down to the rink and practice.”

“No, but – what about the workout room in your apartment? You could spend some time on the elliptical, use the weights. We could get other machines, a rower, whatever you wanted.” 

“I can’t go there on a regular basis. I told you, it’s not a good idea. Someone might see me.”

Bitty can’t really argue with this. He wishes they had space here to put some exercise equipment, but there’s barely room for the minimal furniture he has now. He puts a hand on the back of Jack’s neck and starts massaging his tight muscles. It takes a moment or two for Jack to give in to it, but then he relaxes, letting out a long sigh. 

“I feel trapped here.”

Bitty blinks, surprised, but keeps working at Jack’s neck, bringing his other hand up and shifting until he can get to Jack’s back. “It’s a pretty small space to be in all day long.”

Jack nods, letting his chin fall down to his chest. “I should be grateful – I have you, and we’re good…” Jack twists and looks at Bitty, as if to confirm, and Bitty presses a kiss to his forehead.

“We’re wonderful.” Bitty’s quiet, trying to give Jack the space to express himself. He finds a particularly tight knot under Jack’s shoulder blade, and pushes his thumbs into it until it gives.

“Do you think running would help?” Jack asks hesitantly. “I could go when it’s dark, in the morning after I walk you to work.”

Bitty hums. “The streets are pretty much deserted at that time of day. Why don’t you try it?”

“I think I will.”

“In the meantime, lay down here and let me get at you properly.” Bitty gives Jack a little push, and Jack raises an eyebrow at him, then lies down on his stomach on the couch. Bitty straddles his ass and starts to massage him in earnest.

He rucks up Jack’s flannel and lets his fingers slide underneath it and the t-shirt layered below, just an inch or so, before pausing. “This okay?”

“Yes.”

Bitty continues, and a few seconds later, Jack says “I’ll take it off.” Jack shifts to his side, unbuttons his shirt, and in record time the flannel and t-shirt are in a pile on the floor. Jack lies back down on his stomach, head buried in his arms on the pillow in front of him.

For the first time in almost a year, Jack’s body is bared for Bitty. Just from the waist up, but still, it’s a sight. He’s a little slimmer than he used to be, but his shoulders are still broad. His skin still stretches beautifully across taut muscles, tapering down to his narrow waist. 

Bitty presses a kiss between Jack’s shoulder blades, his skin cool on his lips, and nuzzles the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and Jack shivers underneath him.

“I thought I was getting a massage,” Jack says in response.

“And you are.” Bitty understands. Jack’s feeling shy. It’s not the first time. It’s okay if this isn’t the right moment for more intimate activities. Giving Jack the most awesome massage he’s ever had is fine with Bitty. Bitty sits back up, and spends the next twenty minutes working Jack into a spineless pool of jelly. When he’s done, he nudges Jack until he turns up on his side, slides down in front of Jack’s chest to be the perfect little spoon, and pulls a throw blanket over them both. 

They drift into a comfortable sleep, and wake only when Bitty’s phone rings. “The Devil Went Down to Georgia” plays, and Jack groans.

“I can’t believe you made that the ringtone for your father. Such a disrespectful son.”

Bitty scrunches up his face. “Shitty put that on there and you know it.” He maneuvers out of Jack’s embrace and stands up, almost falling on the floor in the process. “I really do have to talk to them, don’t I?”

Jack sits up, rubbing his eyes, and then focusing on Bitty. “You don’t have to do anything, Bits.”

“But if I don’t talk to them, they’ll just keep calling.” Bitty ignores the phone, however, and it stops ringing.

Jack shrugs. There’s not much he can say to this.

Bitty runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what else to say on the topic, at least not right now. “I’m taking a shower,” he announces, “then I’ll call them.”

“What, you think it will be easier to talk to your parents if your hair is clean?”

Bitty grins. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, and you know how much Coach values godliness.” Bitty knows he’s just putting off the inevitable, but he can’t help it. He’s still not sure what he’s going to say.

Cranking up some Beyoncé for support, Bitty stands under the hot water and considers his options. He’s not particularly fond of any of them. And after all he’s been through with his parents, he’s sure about one thing: he doesn’t want to lie to them. It’s bad enough that he hasn’t told them that Jack is back, choosing instead to skirt around the topic, talking about the bakery and his online column and whether his aunt Tilda would enjoy the English Christmas menu he’s working on for the magazine. It’s practically lying, and it makes him feel queasy. He wants to stop.

Bitty thinks that may be why he hasn’t called his parents back in the past few weeks; he knows that if he gets on the phone with them, he won’t be able to hold back any longer.

An hour later, hair blow dried, skin moisturized, and fully dressed in tan corduroy slacks, a button-up shirt, and a soft brown crew-neck sweater, Bitty has delayed as long as possible.

“What do you think I should tell them?”

Jack is stretched out on the couch, Bitty’s laptop on his lap, and he looks at Bitty seriously. “Whatever you want to.”

Bitty purses his lips. “You don’t really mean that.”

Jack closes the laptop and taps a finger on it. “I’m not making you hide, Bits. Or, you know, hide me. Not from your parents. You have to do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Bitty doesn’t answer, and Jack’s face falls. “Or if you don’t want to tell them, that’s all right too. They probably won’t be all that happy with me. I’m not exactly what you signed up for anymore.”

“Hey, cut that out.” Bitty gives Jack his best glare. Jack doesn’t even crack a smile, so Bitty knows it’s serious. “You don’t think I’m ashamed of you, do you? Honey, that’s not it at all. I love you, sweetheart.” He sits down on Jack’s chest, and Jack huffs out a burst of air as Bitty leans in to give him a tight hug. “I love you more than anything, and don’t you forget it.”

“But I’m kind of hard to explain,” Jack says sadly.

Bitty purses his lips and fiddles with the collar of Jack’s shirt, thinking about what Jack said. Now he’s actually got an idea of how to do this. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bitty smiles, and reaches for the phone. “Watch and learn.”

His mother picks up the phone on the first ring, and Bitty quickly apologizes for not calling her back sooner. Jack shifts so that he’s more comfortable, moving Bitty from his chest to his lap, and Bitty leans against his shoulder as his mother immediately starts in about Christmas plans, as Bitty knew she would.

“Mama? I’m going to have to stop you right there.”

There’s a pause, and then Bitty’s dad speaks up.

“Son, are we going to see you this Christmas or not?”

“No sir, I’m afraid not. But it’s for a very good reason.” Bitty takes in a breath, and glances quickly at Jack, who is gazing at him calmly.

“Oh? What’s going on, Dicky?” his mother asks.

“I’m spending Christmas with Jack.”

Silence, then, gently – “Dicky, we understand that you wish you could-“

“No, really, mama. Jack’s here.” Bitty grins a little, then holds the phone in front of Jack, who says quickly “Hi, Suzanne. Hi Coach.”

The questions start coming fast and furious, and Bitty just holds the phone away from his ear for a minute until he can get a word in edgewise.

“Honestly, it’s a long story, and I can’t give you all the details. No one knows Jack’s back, other than his parents and a few close friends. You absolutely can’t tell anyone. He was attacked, and injured, but now he’s okay, and we’re figuring out where to go from here.”

“Is he going back to work?” Coach asks, and Bitty sees Jack flinch.

“No, he’s not – not to the Falcs, anyway.”

“The media doesn’t know, do they?” Bitty’s mom asks.

“No. No one knows, except Jack’s parents. Not the media, not the Falcs, no one. And you can’t tell,” Bitty says again, firmly.

“Dicky, of course we won’t tell. But – are you okay? Is Jack? It must be such a shock. What can we do to help?” Suzanne sounds frazzled, and Bitty doesn’t blame her.

“We’re okay, mama. Both of us.” Bitty glances at Jack and he nods. “Thank you, but we don’t need anything right now. Just some time to ourselves, to figure things out.”

“You said that before, son,” Coach says, “’figure things out.’ What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

Bitty clears his throat. “I’m afraid that’s not something I can really answer right now, without getting into some private details that Jack isn’t ready to share.” 

“Oh, sweetheart, that poor boy. What happened to him?” Suzanne asks. 

“He’s okay now, mama, really. I can’t tell you any more than that.”

“But you’re taking care of him?” Suzanne’s voice catches in her throat.

“We’re taking care of each other, don’t worry.”

“Well, how about we come up there for Christmas?” his father asks. “I wouldn’t mind seeing your face, you know, son.”

“Coach, he just said they want to be left alone,” Suzanne chides. “Dicky, we’ll let you two be for now, but know y’all can always come to us if you need anything, do you understand? And we’ll expect a call Christmas day, after we get home from church. And you answer when we call from now on, y’hear?”

“Thank you, mama,” Bitty sighs out. “And you promise y’all won’t-“

“We won’t breathe a word, Dicky. Cross our hearts. As far as we know, nothing has changed.”

“Thank you. G’bye, mama, Coach.”

“Goodbye,” Jack offers.

Bitty’s parents say their goodbyes, and then the line is silent. Jack pulls Bitty into a hug, and Bitty realizes that he’s starting to shake.

“Jack? You okay?”

Jack just holds Bitty tighter.

Bitty threads his fingers through Jack’s hair. “It’s okay, it’s all over now. They’re not mad at me, everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know…” 

Bitty can tell Jack is breathing faster, and he rubs his back, wishing there was something more he could do. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Want to try to breath with me?”

“No, I’m all right, just…” Jack doesn’t finish the sentence, but Bitty lets him cling to him, kisses his cheek, and hums in what he hopes is a soothing fashion.

It passes quickly, nowhere near as scary as the panic attack Jack had on Thanksgiving, but it worries Bitty nonetheless.

When Jack is calm, he pulls back and rubs a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. Kind of a delayed reaction, I guess.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll probably be up all night making stress brownies for Lily.” Bitty studies Jack, how he sits with his shoulders curled in, and his heart breaks. Jack’s anxiety has been building all afternoon, and he doesn’t know how to help.

“I don’t suppose there’s any medication you can take?” Jack hadn’t been taking anything regularly for years, but he had something for if his anxiety really peaked. As far as Bitty knew, he didn’t take it very often, if at all, but he remembered the orange pill bottle in Jack’s bathroom.

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t think it would work now. My metabolism isn’t normal. Who knows what those meds would do to me.”

Bitty takes Jack’s hand. He’s still trembling. It’s barely noticeable, but Bitty can feel it. “You aren’t the only person to have this disease. It might be rare, but some doctor out there somewhere must know how to treat it.”

“Ted tried. All he found were quacks.”

“Maybe we can find someone more qualified.”

Jack pulls his hand away from Bitty, wraps his arms around his waist, buries his hands in the folds of his sweatshirt. “I can’t do that. I can’t talk to a doctor – let alone ask for a referral. Can you imagine… No one can know, Bitty. I can’t… I wouldn’t survive it.”

Fuck, Bitty thinks, Jack was calming down and now he’s gone and made it worse. Now is apparently not the time to talk about Bitty’s ideas for how to improve their situation. “I’m sorry, it’s okay.” Bitty shuffles closer and pulls Jack against him again. Jack digs his head into Bitty’s shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about this now. But I’m not giving up, Jack. It’s gonna get better. You don’t have to face this alone, not anymore.”

They stay on the couch for a few more minutes. Bitty decides that things aren’t likely to improve until Jack gets a break from his racing thoughts, and tugs him off the couch and into the bedroom to go to sleep. 

Jack burrows into the blankets, not even stopping to change his clothes. Bitty quickly changes into a t-shirt and sleep pants and joins him, Jack promptly turning and tucking his face in the crook of Bitty’s neck, legs tangled together and hands grasping at his shirt. 

Bitty doesn’t remember dozing off, but at some point he wakes up and finds Jack staring at him.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?” Bitty asks, his voice raspy with sleep.

“Better now.” Jack bites his lip. “Thank you.” 

“There’s no need to thank me.”

“No, Bitty… you don’t realize…” Jack blinks hard, looks away, and then back at Bitty. “Until I moved back in with you, my anxiety was off the charts. I was so afraid of – everything. I went days without talking to anyone, weeks sometimes.”

Bitty feels his eyes well up with tears. It hurts to think of Jack scared and alone, panicky, without anyone to help him. “Oh, honey…”

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m better now. I know it seems, well, not ideal,” Jack breaks off.

It’s all Bitty can do not to say “well duh, panic attacks are not okay,” but he keeps quiet and waits for Jack to finish his thought.

“I still have some harder moments, but I’m managing. Knowing you’re here, that you don’t hate me… that Shitty and Lardo, and my parents, they all know about me and it’s okay… it makes a huge difference.”

Bitty can’t help but smile. Jack is trying to see the positive in the situation. Being able to recognize and acknowledge progress is important, Bitty knows. It’s brave, and Bitty isn’t about to take anything away from that. He shuffles around under the covers and finds Jack’s hand. 

“You are incredible.” Bitty leans forward and presses a soft kiss to Jack’s mouth. “But I still think we can make things easier for you. Being incredible shouldn’t be so hard.”

A smile tugs at the edge of Jack’s mouth, and he falls on to his back, tugging Bitty against him. “All right, then,” Jack says. “You don’t work tomorrow… wanna wake up at four in the morning and go running with me?”

“Oh, you charmer!”


	21. Near Miss

Lardo pages over to the open tab on her computer, looking again at the website for the Cambridge Center for Adult Education. She thinks about calling Bitty first to run the idea by him, then decides against it. She's just going to bite the bullet and call Jack.

She finds the new number in her phone, the one she asked Bitty for after their disastrous visit to Providence on Thanksgiving, and presses it. The voice that answers on the first ring is flat, cautious. She's just glad he answers at all.

"Jack? It's Lardo."

There a brief pause, then, "Did you want to talk to Bitty? He's in the shower but he should be out pretty soon."

It's so trademark Jack, not believing someone wants to talk to him even when his own phone rings. "No, I was calling to talk to you."

"Oh. How are you?" 

I'm not fooled by your politeness, is how I am, Lardo thinks. "I'm good. Did you get Shitty's package?"

Jack barks out a laugh. "I've never received apology boxer shorts before."

They were white with a big red maple leaf smack in the middle, and “Canadians do it politely” written on the leg. Shitty designed them himself, through an online site. Lardo had laughed for a full five minutes when she saw them. “Yeah, well, believe me when I tell you I rejected the first two items he came up with."

"You'll have to fill me in sometime," Jack says. 

Lardo pauses, hoping Jack will continue, but he doesn't suggest another get-together. She looks back at the open webpage, and dives in. "So, I've got an idea I want to run by you."

"Sure. What's on your mind?" It's Jack's "I'm listening" voice. He probably thinks she's going to ask for advice.

"Shits and I are going to take a photography course."

"Oh. That's nice." 

"And we wondered if you'd be interested. Not in coming with us. But we thought every week after the class we could come down and go out with you and show you what we learned."

She can almost hear him holding back his automatic "no," so she keeps talking. 

"It's a three week course on Street Photography at the Cambridge Adult Ed center. They include a lesson on night photography as well. We can come Saturday nights, after the class. Or, um, any night that works for you guys."

Lardo hears a "hey, who's on the phone?" from Bitty, and Jack's soft response ("Larissa"). 

"What do you think?" She really wants Jack to answer on his own, without agreeing just because Bitty thinks it would be a good idea. She strongly suspects not only that Bitty would think it's a good idea, but that Jack would do almost anything Bitty asked at this point. Although come to think of it, that's not really anything new.

"I haven't taken any photos in a long time." A pause. "But it might be fun."

Victory! she thinks. Time to close the deal before he changes his mind. "The first class is right after New Year’s. I'll be in touch to figure out when we'll come down. Or - you can call me. Anytime. You know that, right?"

"Yeah." More whispering. "Um, Bitty wants to say hi."

"Okay. Take care, Jack, all right?"

"You too. And, um. Thanks, Lardo. To both of you."

"Anytime, bro."

She pages to the class registration page and types in her credit card information as Bitty starts talking.

"I don't know what you said to Jack, but he looks like he just found out there's a new David McCullough book coming out. And I know there's not, because I've got an alert on my Amazon page."

Lardo can hear the smile in Bitty's voice, and it makes her grin in response. "I did what you said."

"Oh? Bought the good butter?"

"Nope. I thought of something we could do with Jack that doesn't involve food. Or hockey." She tells him about the photography class, including the bit about tips for taking photographs at night. "I think he agreed. At least, he didn't disagree."

Bitty hums in agreement, and she hears a shuffle and a soft "scoot over, let me see," followed by a good natured grumble from Jack. "Well, right now he's looking at tripods on my Amazon account, so I think it's a go."

*****  
Jack goes running the next three times he drops Bitty off at the bakery. It feels… weird, at first. He has to adjust to it, not sprinting with the speed he’s now capable of, but finding a stride that works for a longer distance, one he can keep up with until he’s sweating and his muscles start to ache in that familiar way.

He runs down by the river, a route he always liked, but goes back to Bitty’s place before the sun comes up. He misses seeing the full sunrise, but he gets a hint of it some mornings, the light just peeking up over the horizon, not strong enough yet to bother his skin.

Jack avoids entirely the neighborhood where he was attacked last January. It hadn’t been on one of his regular routes, just a variation he took almost by mistake as he tried to distract himself from that night’s upcoming game. Thinking about that day is something he also avoids, although he finds that it’s easier to think about when he’s moving, feet slapping the pavement with a soothing rhythm. 

He had investigated the area when he first returned to Providence, wanting to satisfy himself that the three men who ambushed him were no longer hiding out in the same drafty warehouse. They weren’t, although for a time Jack had thought that the creep in the abandoned restaurant supply shop was one of them. That guy turned out to be a run of the mill asshole, not one who infected people for fun, but he was bad news regardless.

No, the only vamp Jack has met since he said goodbye to Ted in Maine is Mario. Bitty had grinned at him when he decided to start making butcher shop visits on Wednesday nights, praising his willingness to talk to a stranger. Bitty hadn’t seen Jack with his ski mask on, though – Bitty would have chirped him relentlessly for not trusting Mario, and going out looking like a bank robber. But Mario seems to take it in stride, calling him only “Eric’s friend” and not asking him for any personal details. They haven’t had any deep conversations, but it is reassuring to see someone like himself surviving out in the real world. 

Bitty has asked several times to go running with him on a morning that he doesn’t have to go in to the bakery, but whenever Jack wakes him up, Bitty grumbles about how he’ll go “next time,” and rolls over, tucking his face into the pillow. Jack doesn’t have the heart to actually drag him out from under the covers. He’s too damn adorable for that. And Jack really likes to climb back into bed with him after his run, Bitty’s warmth irresistible against his cool skin.

When Bitty suggests a late night run – “can’t let you get fit without me, you’re intimidating enough as it is,” Jack agrees. It’s somewhat against his better judgment, but he has a hard time saying no to Bitty. And he’s missed running with him.

They head out late, just after midnight. Jack wears a wool hat and his black hoodie, which he keeps pulled up around his head; he pulls the drawstring so it covers more of his face. Even Bitty’s dressed inconspicuously, trading in his favorite orange parka for dark colored running gear. 

It’s comfortable, just like Jack thought it would be, running through the empty streets with Bitty. It brings back good memories, of working out together at Samwell, and in Providence after Jack graduated. They are making good time, Bitty still in decent shape despite not having run in a while, and Jack lets himself relax into it.

They cut a little too close to a busier area, one with a few popular bars, and Jack is about to turn them around when he hears a familiar voice.

“Bittle? Hey,Bittle! Hold up.” It’s Holster.

Shit. Jack speeds away, tucking himself around a corner in an alley, hoping Bitty will know not to try to follow him. He immediately chastises himself for not having thought through what they would do if something like this happened. 

“Oh my lord, look who it is,” Bitty gushes. Jack can hear him easily, even how he’s a little out of breath from their run. “What brings y’all to town?”

“Bitty – hi!” It’s Chowder. “You remember – I texted you about it – we’re here for the Falcs game – I asked you to come?” Chowder apparently still hasn’t learned how to speak in a normal cadence. “Tater got us tickets. You never got back to me, but I sent the email twice-”

“Oh, I remember now,” Bitty says, and Jack can almost hear the frantic effort he’s making to come up with a reasonable explanation. “My boss wanted me to help with an order for a wedding tomorrow, so I didn’t think I could join y’all, but, um, it got called off.”

“The wedding? Oh, how sad, I hope-”

“No, not the wedding, the order,” Bitty says, getting into his story. “The groom decided he wanted a vegan cake, because his sister is vegan, and Lily doesn’t make those, although I’ve told her we really should try, but so far we haven’t found a recipe we’re happy with, the cake always comes out too dry…”

Bitty’s almost as bad as Chowder, Jack thinks fondly.

“Anyway, man, it’s great that we ran into you. We’re just about to get a drink – come with us?” Holster says. “Half our old Samwell team’s already inside. It’s pretty cool. They’d love to see you.”

“Yeah, we’re not taking no for an answer,” Ransom chimes in. “It’s been too long, man. Where’ve you been hiding?”

“Oh, I’m not hiding, just busy,” Bitty says, and Jack can hear the nerves in his voice.

“Come on, it’ll be ‘swawesome,” Chowder says. “We all miss you.”

“No, thank you all so much, but really, I’ve got to get home. Early morning tomorrow. Life of a baker, you know. Up before the sun.”

“Next time, then. No excuses,” Ransom says firmly. Jack thinks he’s giving Bitty a hug, from the “oof” Bitty lets out. “Just ‘cause Jack is gone, doesn’t mean we’re not a team anymore. We’ve still got your back, Bittle.”

Jack’s chest aches at this, but he doesn’t say anything, just moves a little deeper into the alleyway. The guys continue with their goodbyes, Chowder whispering some sort of apology which Bitty brushes off, and then they apparently head off down the block to the bar.

Jack doesn’t want to stick his head out and risk being seen, but he’s immediately concerned for Bitty. He doesn’t want him walking home by himself. Fortunately Bitty is thinking faster than he is, and Jack’s phone pings with a text.

**Are you still nearby?**

**Yes.**

**Meet me around the corner, on Park?**

**Be right there.**

Jack takes the long way around, going through the alley to avoid passing the bar where Holster and the others are apparently holding a team reunion. Not the kind of coincidence he appreciates. Jack gets to the meeting spot just before Bitty appears, and stands outside of the glow of a nearby streetlight.

Bitty’s face is splotched with red, and he throws himself into Jack’s arms when he sees him. “Oh honey, are you okay? I’m so sorry.”

Jack gives him a squeeze and then pulls back, steering Bitty further into the shadows around the corner where they are less likely to be seen. “I’m fine, Bits. That was an admirable performance you gave.”

Bitty shrugs. “Don’t tell my mama I learned how to make excuses from her, she’ll never forgive me.” Bitty puts a warm hand up to Jack’s face, and Jack smiles into his palm. “You’re really okay?”

Jack nods. He knows how worried Bitty is about him. He can’t really blame him, given the panic attacks Bitty’s witnessed. Bitty hadn’t known him when that kind of thing was a regular occurrence for Jack. But as much as Jack wishes they would go away completely, he can tell they are generally getting more manageable, and coming further and further apart. He really should be proud of himself for staying calm just now, he thinks, giving himself a mental pat on the back. “I’m okay, Bits, I promise,” Jack assures him.

Jack jogs backwards a few steps until Bitty starts following him, and then turns as they get into a rhythm. They go more slowly this time, both of them still processing the night’s events.

“Why didn’t you go to the game with them?” Jack finally asks. He thinks he knows what Bitty is going to say, but he needs to hear it for himself.

“You know.” Bitty doesn’t take the bait.

“Have you been to any games, since…?”

“I went to all my games senior year, thank you very much. Every single one. That was more than enough hockey, given the circumstances.”

“You haven’t been back to Samwell, to see any games there?”

Bitty halts almost in place, and Jack spins to see him. “Stop it, Jack. You should know damn well why I don’t go to any Falcs games, or go visit Samwell to reminisce. It was all I could do to get through senior year, with everyone always being so careful around me, trying to make sure I wasn’t going to freak out if your name was mentioned. And watching a Falcs game without you, having to listen to Tater tell me it was all going to be okay, all those pitying faces – I just couldn’t do it. It would have been much too painful, and I didn’t owe it to anyone to put myself through that kind of agony.”

“No, Bitty, of course not. I didn’t mean that.”

Bitty pouts. Their run is clearly over. Bitty lets Jack take his arm as they start walking towards home. 

“I’m sure the guys do miss you, though. Chowder sounded pretty sad that you hadn’t texted him back.” Jack pushes aside the chant of “it’s all my fault” that is churning in his gut. There’s time for his own guilt-fest later.

“He’s a good kid,” Bitty admits. “And he was really there for me last year, you know? Always trying to help.”

“And, maybe, actually helping a little bit too?”

Bitty laughs softly. “Yes, actually helping too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be away for a little while, so won't be able to post again until next Friday. But the last three chapters are long and full of good stuff (including the promised sexytimes)... I think you will like them! Come say hi on tumblr (flowerfan2) in the meantime, and if you are in my part of the world, enjoy the last bit of summer!


	22. Holiday Light

Bitty rushes home from the bakery on Christmas Eve. Lily had asked him to come in for a daytime shift today, anticipating correctly that the bakery would be overrun with customers looking for holiday treats and she would need the extra help. But Bitty didn’t mind - no one can be really grumpy when surrounded by the enticing aromas of hot cinnamon spiced cider and fresh cookies, and the day had passed quickly enough.

His head is filled with his plans for tomorrow as he thinks about the gifts he has for Jack; one, in particular, that he is particularly nervous about. But all thoughts of gifts fly out of his head as he opens the door to the apartment and Shitty bursts out.

“Gotta run. Lards hates when I’m late. Happy day, bro.” Shitty gives him a quick hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek and bustles off down the stairs without any further explanation.

Bitty enters the dim apartment and gasps as he takes in the sight. It’s been transformed into a tiny winter wonderland, with white fairy lights hung around the living room and candles flickering on the kitchen island. Jack is standing by the door, a nervous look on his face, and he turns Bitty as he comes in, until he is face to face with a gorgeous Christmas tree. 

“Oh, my,” Bitty breaths out, moving closer to examine it. The familiar smell of pine envelops him as he approaches, and he reaches to grab Jack’s hand and pull him along. “Jack, this is amazing.” The tree is decorated with ornaments he recognizes from Jack’s old apartment, along with some that can only be from his parents’ house in Georgia, and a few more that might well be from Jack’s childhood. There are some red and green shining glass bulbs thrown in for good measure, and colorful twinkling lights.

“How did you do all this?”

Jack swings their hands between them, a shy smile forming on his face as he relaxes into the knowledge that Bitty likes his surprise. “I had everything sent to Shitty’s, and he brought it down today. And got the tree.”

Bitty looks around the room, noticing how red velvet accent pillows have been placed on the couch, and a red and gold blanket is spread on the floor in front of the tree, replacing the coffee table which has been pushed to the side, now holding cookies artfully arranged on a platter.

“Suzanne helped, too,” Jack says, following Bitty’s gaze. “She sent the cookies, and some decorations for the tree.” Jack turns back to Bitty and takes his other hand, looking down at him with a flutter of his lashes. “Do you like it?”

“Oh, honey, it’s wonderful.”

Jack smiles and ducks his head, and Bitty has to rise up on his toes and kiss his lovely mouth. 

“Want to sit down?” Jack asks.

Bitty nods and lets Jack help him off with his coat. He puts his shoes back by the door, and then joins Jack on the floor in front of the tree. Jack doesn’t look pale in the soft lighting, just happy and excited. Pretty much the same way Bitty feels.

Jack sits with his back resting against the couch and opens his arms so that Bitty can snuggle into them. There’s music playing in the background, something jazzy and reminiscent of holidays past, and Bitty smiles as he thinks about Jack making a playlist for the occasion.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jack murmurs, and Bitty turns to see his face. He’s so earnest, so completely open. It does things to Bitty, to realize this person who keeps himself so very private lays himself bare for him.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Bitty says, raising a hand to touch his fingers to Jack’s cheek. “So very much.”

Jack leans in to kiss him, and it’s sweet at first, like most of the kisses they have shared lately, warm and comforting. But then it turns more urgent, and Bitty feels Jack’s hand at the small of his back, pulling him closer. He hums into it and licks at Jack’s mouth, which falls open obediently at Bitty’s prompting.

Jack tugs at Bitty’s calf and soon he’s straddling Jack’s legs, pressing himself close enough to feel the coolness of Jack’s skin through his thin sweater. Bitty moves to kiss along Jack’s jaw, and Jack lets out a soft moan, his hand reaching down to cup Bitty’s ass.

“This okay?” Jack asks in a low voice, and Bitty would laugh at the ridiculousness of the question if he wasn’t so desperately turned on.

“Oh yes,” he breathes out, then sits back on his knees for a minute and gazes at Jack, his pupils wide in the shining blue of his eyes. “Is it possible I waited too long to suggest the right moment?” Bitty asks, thinking back on their conversation about further sexytimes. 

Jack blushes, and Bitty wants to kiss him again, so he does, nibbling at his jaw and the thin skin of his neck. 

“You could suggest it right now,” Jack rasps.

Bitty giggles. “Consider it done.”

Things heat up quickly after that, as Jack untucks Bitty’s shirt with trembling hands and goes to work on the buttons. Bitty starts to help him, then abandons the effort and tugs the whole thing up and over his head, taking his t-shirt along with it.

“Impatient, eh?” Jack says, immediately putting his hands all over Bitty’s exposed skin, mapping the lines of his collarbone, his pecs, his ribs. He leans in and licks experimentally at a nipple, and Bitty sucks in a deep breath. He’s hard already, and he shuffles his hips in closer, growing more aroused as Jack continues his ministrations.

Suddenly it’s comical that they’re still clothed, and Bitty yanks at Jack’s sweater, then abruptly stands up and sheds his pants. Jack is staring up at him, his mouth hanging just a little bit open, and Bitty grins. “Guess I am impatient.”

Jack huffs out a laugh, but is quick to join him, rising to his feet to strip off his jeans. Bitty can see him hesitate when he gets down to his boxers, and he moves in close, putting a hand on Jack’s arm and looking up into his eyes.

“Hey,” Bitty says, waiting for Jack to meet his gaze, “come here.”

Bitty pulls him in and kisses him again, and again, and again, until Jack’s arms have come around his shoulders and he’s mumbling endearments and running his hands through Bitty’s hair. Bitty lets his hands wander down to Jack’s butt, stroking its delicious curves. Jack responds by pressing his hips closer to Bitty, so Bitty grabs him more firmly, massaging and tugging, letting his fingers tease.

“Fuck, Bitty…” Jack breathes out, and sinks to the floor, pulling Bitty with him in a move that is more graceful than it deserves to be. They’re lying on their sides, Bitty’s head pillowed on one of Jack’s arms, while Jack uses the other to trace down his chest. Jack’s mouth follows his fingers, kissing and sucking, and Bitty is so far gone that it’s almost a surprise when Jack’s hand finds his cock.

“Oh, yes, Jack…” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, shaky and high, and he’s breathing faster with every stroke of Jack’s hand. But this isn’t exactly what Jack has asked for, despite the fact that he’s giving it to Bitty wholeheartedly, and so after a few more blissful minutes, Bitty shifts and pushes at Jack’s shoulder.

Jack falls on to his back, looking at Bitty with expectation and a hint of apprehension, and Bitty carefully covers him with his body, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, pouring love into every inch of his skin before taking his mouth in a firm kiss. He can feel Jack’s cock, hard where it’s pressed against Bitty’s thigh, but he ignores it for the moment, lavishing Jack’s face with kisses, nibbling at his earlobe, and threatening to suck a hickey above his collarbone.

Bitty slides down, kissing Jack’s chest, lapping at one nipple while his fingers circle and squeeze the other. Jack whines, and Bitty feels it all the way down to his toes. He moves further down, kissing the skin of Jack’s taut abs and his belly.

Jack is shaky in his arms, and breathing hard, his legs trembling where they bracket Bitty’s body. Bitty sits up a little bit, hands still now where they rest on Jack’s hips, one thumb toying with the waistband of Jack’s boxers.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Jack looks at him with glazed eyes, and swallows hard before answering. “Yes.”

“Shall I keep going?” Bitty asks, wanting to confirm. Jack has been so scared of this, he doesn’t want to take any chances.

In response, Jack sits up a little and tugs his boxers off, then lies back down and smiles at Bitty shyly. “Yes, please.”

Bitty has to kiss him some more, kiss that gorgeous smile and squeeze Jack tight around the shoulders, but he can feel Jack’s shaking increase and he doesn’t want to make him wait too long. “Okay, honey. I’ve got you.”

Bitty slides down until he can get a good look at Jack’s cock, heavy and leaking. He wraps his hand around it, silky skin over firm weight, and strokes gently. 

Jack’s head falls back against the floor with a soft thump, and his hands grasp at the blanket. “Bitty…”

After a few more strokes, Bitty leans down and licks a stripe up Jack’s length, then without further ado, takes him into his mouth.

It’s been a long time since they’ve done this, but the sensation of being so close to Jack is so familiar, the scent and the feel of him so intense, Bitty almost feels like he’s going to come just from this alone. And from the sound of it, Jack won’t be far behind.

Bitty pulls off for a deep breath and looks up at Jack, his chest tightening at the rapt expression on Jack’s face. “Love you, sweetheart,” Bitty says, breathing hard. “Love to look at you. Love to have you close to me.”

Jack tries to speak, his voice almost choked, and reaches down to grab Bitty’s shoulder and pull him up. “Come closer,” Jack says, breathless, “please, Bits, come here, I need…”

Bitty stretches out along Jack’s body. Jack captures his lips with his own as soon as Bitty is within reach, winding an arm around his back and a foot around his calf. “Love you so much, sweetheart,” Bitty breathes out, kissing Jack softly and then harder, nibbling at his lips and sucking until Jack is squirming beneath him.

Bitty reaches down to fist Jack’s cock, his own bumping against his fingers, his hips thrusting in time to his strokes. Jack twists away for a moment and Bitty’s brain freezes, fearing it is too much for him, but then Jack’s back, squirting lube into his hand and wrapping his long fingers around them both. Jack moans softly and Bitty gasps, pressing his face into Jack’s chest. 

They kiss until they can’t anymore, panting heavily into each other’s skin, coming closer and closer to release. Bitty looks up and thrills at what he sees, Jack a sweaty mess, one hand pulling at his own hair and then sweeping down to pull Bitty’s head to him. Jack breathes warm onto Bitty’s neck, and Bitty’s skin tingles as Jack’s tongue paints him with kisses. There’s a moment when Jack’s teeth touch at the skin at the base of his neck when Bitty’s mind struggles to remember something – but it’s gone in a flash as he feels Jack tense, suddenly bucking up harder into Bitty’s hand, sobbing and jerking. Bitty comes too, pushing his face against Jack’s shoulder and crying out, pleasure and relief and joy overwhelming him.

Bitty comes down slowly. He feels boneless, draped over Jack as Jack strokes his side gently, kissing his forehead and brushing his sweaty hair out of his face. “I adore you, Eric Bittle,” Jack breathes out. “Rest now, hm?” Bitty lets himself doze, safe in Jack’s embrace. 

He blinks his eyes open a little while later, as Jack is wiping him off with a warm cloth. Jack’s got his boxers back on, and his old Samwell sweatshirt. He’s always worried that Bitty will be too cold with him, will find his cool body temperature too strange. But Jack smiles fondly at Bitty as he lies back down next to him, this time with another blanket to cover them up. 

Bitty snuggles close, rucking up Jack’s sweatshirt to slide a hand underneath it and rest his palm over Jack’s heart. He loves to feel Jack’s skin, the way it moves as he breathes, the wiry hair in the center of his chest. “Love you, sweetheart.”

Bitty’s not sure how much time has gone by when he wakes again. He sits up and looks around. There’s an enticing aroma coming from the kitchen, and he can only assume Jack is responsible.

He stands and pulls the fleece blanket around his shoulders, walking the few steps into the kitchen on shaky legs. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says, coming up behind Jack and lacing his arms around his waist. Jack turns in his arms to kiss him, then smirks as the movement sends the blanket to the floor. 

“You’re not exactly dressed for dinner,” Jack says, but he doesn’t seem particularly put out by this, his eyes moving appreciatively up and down Bitty’s naked form.

Just as Bitty is considering whether he might delay dinner for round two, his stomach lets out a loud grumble, and they both laugh. “How about I go put some clothes on, then?”

Jack ducks his head and grins. “Probably a good idea.”

A few minutes later, over noodles and dumplings (“Lardo sent them”) for Bitty, and a mug of cinnamon spiced you-know-what for Jack, Bitty surveys the room once again.

“I can’t believe you did all this for me.”

“I’d do anything for you.” Jack responds sweetly, but then his mouth tightens. “At least, I’d like to. Even if I can’t anymore.”

“You give me everything I need, Jack,” Bitty says intently, knowing exactly what thoughts are plaguing his boyfriend. No matter how close Jack had come before to believing in himself, that he is worthy of love, Bitty knows that the events of the past year have, as Shitty might so eloquently say, thrown it all to shit. “You’re enough for me. More than enough. Just as you are.”

Jack shakes his head, eyes downcast.

“Come on.” Bitty puts a finger on Jack’s chin and raises it up until he can see his eyes. “This is quite possibly the most romantic night of my life. How could all this be the work of someone anything less than amazing?”

“You liked it?” Jack asks, his voice soft. 

_This boy,_ Bitty thinks fondly. “I loved it.” He stands up from his stool so he can move closer to Jack, puts his hands on Jack’s chest and holds his gaze. “You mean the world to me, Jack. Lord, having you back, here in my arms…” Bitty feels tears well up in his eyes. “And trusting me with everything.” He blinks up at Jack, and then sighs as he leans against him, overwhelmed again in the best possible way. “I couldn’t imagine a better Christmas present.”

 

****

Bitty wakes up before Jack on Christmas morning. It’s still dark out, but they had left the Christmas lights on, and their soft glow is visible outside the bedroom door. Bitty slides out of bed, trying not to bother Jack, but he blinks a blue eye open anyway.

“Bits?” Jack says sleepily, struggling to get up on an elbow.

“Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Bitty says, curling around Jack for a moment and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve got some surprises to arrange. No peeking.”

It doesn’t take much convincing. “M’kay.” Jack closes his eyes and hums as Bitty tucks the blanket around his shoulders. 

Bitty pulls one of Jack’s hoodies on over his flannel pajamas and makes his way out to the kitchen. He quite likes the fairy lights, he’s decided. They remind him of his room at the Haus.

Bitty makes himself a cup of coffee, takes a few of his mama’s pecan pie bites out of the tin on the counter, and sits down at the kitchen island. He does have some surprises to arrange, but before that, there’s the small matter of how to respond to a rather difficult question. He looks back at the text exchange, starting with the one he had received a few days ago.

**2:15 p.m.  
Ransom: Hey, Bittle. It was good to see u in Providence the other night. Let’s find a time to get together. What’s ur schedule like?**

**2:25 p.m.  
Bitty: It was good to see you too. My schedule is kind of a mess, I get up early and go to sleep early – you know, baking.**

**2:27 p.m.  
Ransom: It can’t be worse than mine. Medical school’s a bitch. But I’m at Alpert, at Brown. We’re neighbors. Name your time, I’ll make it work.**

Bitty had started to panic, then. He had no idea Ransom was so close by. The only thing keeping him from completely falling apart was the call he had scheduled that night to talk to Alicia about Jack’s Christmas present.

His response to Ransom was weak, at best.

**2:42 p.m.  
Bitty: I’ll check my calendar when I get home and get back to you.**

Ransom hadn’t responded, and as bad as Bitty had felt, he had thought that he was out of the woods. Ransom could take a hint, even if it wasn’t a very nice one. But then late last night, after Bitty and Jack were already in bed, he heard his phone ping. He had read the message quickly and then turned over and gone right back to sleep; now he’s kind of hoping he had dreamt the whole thing.

**1:08 a.m.  
Ransom: I know you said you weren’t hiding, but I’m not sure I believe you.**

**1:09 a.m.  
Ransom: I swear I won’t tell anyone, but when we saw u that night – u weren’t alone, were u? You can tell me. I’ve got your back.**

Bitty isn’t about to give Jack away, but he has to say something. He wouldn’t put it past Ransom to turn up on his doorstep if he doesn’t. His address isn’t a secret, and Ransom is nothing if not persistent.

**6:42 a.m.  
Bitty: Justin, what on earth were you thinking, texting me at that hour of the morning? And without even a “Merry Christmas?”**

**6:43 a.m.  
Ransom: What part of medical student did u not understand? And sorry about the Christmas thing, it’s kind of always the same day here. Guess the Santa in the lobby should have clued me in. But you’re avoiding me, and it’s not cool.**

Bitty still thinks it isn’t fair for his friends to pressure him like this. And Shitty had reassured him, during one of their bourbon fueled hangouts, that he didn’t owe anyone an explanation for why he chose to do or not do anything. But again, if he doesn’t do something to appease Ransom, he might just turn up looking for pie. 

**6:44 a.m.  
Bitty: Will you stop pestering me if I promise to come to Samwell’s next home game?**

Maybe he can get Ransom off his back and placate Jack at the same time. And it would be nice to see Chowder and some of the other guys. He hasn’t talked to Dex or Nursey in ages.

**6:50 a.m.  
Ransom: Yes!!! But I’ll have to check the date and see if I can go too. It doesn’t count if I can’t go. Gotta run, Bittle, lives to save.**

Bitty sets his phone aside on the island and lays his head down on his hands. He really can’t wait to give Jack his present.

*****  
They have a leisurely morning, Bitty climbing back into bed with Jack after he finishes his coffee, and snuggling with him as they watch “Love, Actually” on Bitty’s laptop. Bitty has always been a fan of Hugh Grant; he keeps to himself the thought that Jack could easily be his even more handsome son.

Then they shower and dress, Bitty putting on a dark red cashmere sweater that had found its way into his drawer a few days ago. Bitty can’t even attribute Jack’s fascination about seeing him in v-necks to a stereotypical vampire attraction for bare necks – Jack’s been buying him v-necks for years. Come to think of it, Jack has liked to kiss his neck and suck hickeys into it for years. Maybe he was meant to be a vampire all this time.

Jack teases Bitty by taking an old t-shirt and flannel out of his closet, then puts on a gray half-zip sweater and dark brown corduroy pants. Bitty makes them take pictures, sitting in front of the Christmas tree, even though he’s not going to send the photos anywhere. He’s not even sure he should be keeping them on his phone. But he’ll worry about that later.

Finally it’s time to open presents. Bitty situates himself on the floor by the tree, and tries to calm his nerves. This is important.

But Jack has no idea about Bitty’s inner turmoil, and is cheerfully shaking his packages like a five-year old.

“For goodness sakes, Jack, that one’s from Lardo. It could be breakable.”

It turns out to be another painting, the same size as the one that currently hangs on Bitty’s wall. But instead of dark colors with just a hint of light, it’s the reverse. Jack studies them both, then smiles shyly at Bitty. “She’s very good.”

“That she is.”

Bitty’s parents have sent Jack a history documentary on DVD, and the most recent season of Game of Thrones for Bitty (he doesn’t have the heart to tell them that no one watches shows on DVD anymore), along with some potholders and a new apron that match his kitchen curtains. There’s also a check, with a scribbled note that says “if you won’t tell us more about how to help, we trust this will at least be useful.”

Shitty has sent Jack a box with an array of books from his gender violence course, along with a thumb drive which apparently holds all his notes and some of the actual lectures. For Bitty, there’s a pair of boxer shorts that matches the ones he sent Jack, but with an American flag front and center. Shitty had also texted him this morning, telling him about how he got pine sap in his hair as he dragged their tree up the stairs to Bitty’s apartment. _Never say I never did anything for you,_ Shitty concludes, and Bitty nearly tears up as he writes back. _Not in a million years._

Jack’s present for Bitty – in addition to all the decorations, the Christmas tree, and the general wonderful surprise of the whole previous night – is an undated round trip ticket to Georgia. “I know it’s not very romantic,” Jack says, biting his lip. “But you need to go visit them sometime soon. I’m grateful that you chose not to go on Christmas, but they miss you.”

Bitty rewards Jack for this with a series of kisses, for which he needs to climb into Jack’s lap to make sure he has the right angle. They make out for a while, Jack leaning back against the couch, until Bitty can’t take the anticipation any longer.

“Okay, honey, time for your present.” Bitty gets his laptop from the kitchen island and types away for a moment, logging into the secure website Dex helped him set up. “Here. Take a look.”

Bitty turns the screen towards Jack, and watches as he focuses on the screen. It’s a series of photographs of a house, set deep in the Maine woods. It’s not much to look at from the outside, two stories of wood that blend into the trees around it, but as Jack pages through the pictures he sees the open floor plan, the wide polished pine floorboards, the shining granite and stainless kitchen. Jack frowns, and turns to Bitty in confusion.

“Whose house is this?”

“It’s ours.” Bitty shifts, his foot tapping anxiously on the rug. “Or, more accurately, it belongs to your parents. But they bought it for us.”

Jack’s eyes widen, and he looks back at the computer screen dumbly. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s north of Bethel, Maine. About three and a half hours from Boston, a little under four from Montreal. Although there’s an airport in Bethel, that’s how your mom went there last week.”

“My mom was there last week?”

Bitty nods. “She wanted to see it for herself.”

“And…” Jack looks at the computer again, and then back at Bitty. “They already bought it?”

“More or less. I thought we’d go up there for New Year’s, make sure we liked it. If we do, your parents will close the deal. We’ll come back here, I’ll give Lily my notice – you can do the photography course with Lardo and Shitty – and then we’ll move in.”

“Bitty, you can’t do that.” Jack is tensing up, his chest starting to heave.

“Of course I can, sweetheart.” Bitty strokes a hand through his hair, leans his forehead up against Jack’s. “I think it’s going to be wonderful.”

“But – why should you have to do that? To change your whole life for me?”

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says softly, catching Jack’s gaze. “My whole life changed the day I met you. It’s already a done deal.” He leans in and captures Jack’s mouth in a kiss, trying to soothe him. “Believe me, I wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if I didn’t want to go. It’s been a trying few weeks. Your mother has very good taste, but we don’t always see eye to eye. You should have seen the ski chalet she was obsessed with in Vermont.”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “I can imagine.”

“I want this, Jack, I do. I want to go somewhere where you aren’t afraid. Where you can go outside without worrying about someone we know seeing you. Where there aren’t old teammates lurking around every corner. Where the police don’t stop by just to check on me.” Oops, Bitty thought, he hadn’t meant to mention that one.

But Jack catches it. “What do you mean, the police?”

Bitty shrugs. “One of the detectives that talked to me after the attack last month finally put two and two together, and realized I was your boyfriend. She came by Lily’s a few days ago.” He sighs. “She said it was because crime victims can have a hard time over the holidays, and she wanted to see how I was doing, but I think she just wanted to see if my story held up.”

“Bitty… why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was going to. Really. I know it’s important for you to be aware of what the police are thinking. But I didn’t want to mess up our Christmas.”

Jack frowns at this, and lets out a long breath. “So you think the answer is for us to disappear?”

Bitty nods. “We’ll still be together. And we won’t be gone. We’ll be with each other.”

“What about your baking?”

“There are plenty of other bakeries in the world, Jack. Even if they don’t have red bean donuts. And you know I can write my column anywhere.”

“But how can you have a job, if you disappear?”

Bitty grins, and pulls himself up on his knees, bouncing a little as he tabs to another page. “Like this.”

“You’re going to legally change your name?”

“Yup.”

“Can you really do that?”

Bitty nods. “Absolutely. As long as it isn’t for a fraudulent reason. And it isn’t as if I’m trying to avoid paying taxes, or anything. I just want to make it a little bit harder for nosy people to find me.”

“But I can’t do it.”

This was a flaw in their plan, Bitty knew. “Well, no, not if you don’t want the police and the media to get wind of it. But you can use the same name I do, you just can’t get it changed in court.”

Jack reads through the webpage, and Bitty congratulates Shitty on putting together an FAQ on living off the grid that even Jack can’t seem to find fault with.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“Actually, I wanted to get your thoughts on that. I was thinking about Copeland.”

“My mom’s maiden name?”

“Yup. I’ll tell the judge I’m just trying to stay out of the public eye. Shitty says just changing my name will be enough, it doesn’t really matter what name I take. And if the judge asks me why that name, I’ll say out of respect for you.” 

“Eric Copeland,” Jack says, trying it out. “I think it sounds good.”

“More importantly, how do you feel about Jack Copeland?”

Jack repeats it a few times, and then tilts his head at Bitty, his eyes wide. “We’d have the same last name.” 

“We don’t have to. You could pick any name to use.”

“But you want us to have the same name.”

“’Course I do.” I want to marry you, Bitty thinks, but we can’t really do that right now. 

Jack swallows hard, then pulls Bitty in to a tight hug. “Best Christmas ever,” he whispers into Bitty’s hair.


	23. A New Beginning

December 30, 2017

Jack is waiting nervously inside Bitty’s apartment when he gets the text.

**All clear. Come on out.**

Jack shoulders their two duffel bags and steps outside the apartment, locking the door behind him, and walks quietly downstairs. It’s almost eleven o’clock at night; Bitty had wanted to leave hours ago, but Jack thought they should minimize the number of cars on the road for their trip north. He knows it’s not really rational, that no one is going to be watching for them, but there are extra police officers on the road this close to New Year’s, and he doesn’t want to attract any attention.

Pulled up in front of the building is a dark gray Toyota 4 Runner, another present from his parents. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Jack had grumbled when the envelope with the key arrived by overnight mail, addressed to Bitty.

“What’s ridiculous would be not accepting help from people who are able to give it and more than happy to do so,” Bitty had replied.

And Jack really couldn’t argue, not with how excited Bitty looked at the prospect of driving the car.

“I’ve never had a new car,” he had gushed, quickly looking up an auto care manual online. “And this is worlds away from Coach’s old truck.”

Jack tosses the duffels into the back seat with Bitty’s backpack and the grocery bags, and climbs into the front. The car smells of leather and Bitty’s steaming cup of coffee, and Jack wishes for the millionth time that he could have something to drink besides blood and water. He’d even drink a pumpkin latte, or a hazelnut whatever. But then he’s distracted by the happy smile on Bitty’s face, and all thoughts of caffeinated beverages slip right out of his mind.

They drive for about three hours, then take a break to stretch their legs. Jack stays by the car while Bitty runs into a McDonald’s to use the bathroom and get another cup of coffee. He comes back with an apple pie and hides his head, abashed, when Jack chirps him. 

“This isn’t pie at all,” Bitty says, licking the last bit of apple filling from his fingers. “It’s just fast food. No food shaming, remember?” Bitty jokes, leaning across the seat to give Jack a kiss. It leaves his lips sticky, and Jack savors the sugary sweet taste. 

They run into some traffic along the way, an accident somewhere closing a lane, so it takes almost five hours to get to Bethel instead of the four they had planned. Most of the drive is on Route I-95, so it’s not complicated, just boring. Jack amuses Bitty with a playlist of ‘70s and ‘80s rock, and another compiled of every song he associates with Bitty. He particularly likes the reaction he gets when “Brown Eyed Girl” plays – although Bitty protests that it doesn’t apply, since he clearly is not a girl, he blushes anyway. 

Once they near Bethel, it’s another twenty minutes of dark, narrow roads. Although there is plenty of snow on the ground, it’s dry tonight, for which Jack is thankful. Bitty has waxed rhapsodic about how this vehicle is perfect for the terrain, but Jack would rather experiment with its abilities once they are a little more familiar with the roads.

Finally, after a winding drive down a dirt road that seems barely wide enough for them to pass, the house comes into view. There’s a light on by the door that illuminates the cleared parking area and the side deck, which Jack knows from the pictures wraps around to the area of the house they can’t see from here. 

They step out into the frigid air, snow crunching under their feet, and breathe deep. Jack turns to get their bags, but then Bitty is tugging on his sleeve, excited.

“Come on, let’s just go look inside,” he says, grinning. “We can come back for these later.”

Bitty fishes the key out of his pocket and unlocks the door. It’s warm inside – obviously someone has been by to get things set up for them – and it smells like it’s been cleaned recently, too. They knock the snow off their boots and place them carefully in the tray in the entryway, and hang their coats on the hooks. Bitty waits impatiently for Jack to be done, and then they go down the hall into the living area.

It’s great room style – a big, open “L” shaped space, comprised of an upscale kitchen with an island almost as big as Bitty’s apartment, a living space with a sofa and two chairs and a flatscreen television on the wall, and around the corner, a lovely cherry wood dining table. 

“Oh…” Bitty breathes out, walking through the kitchen and running his hand over the shining granite. “It’s even more lovely than in the pictures.” 

Jack can’t help himself, and he gives Bitty a quick kiss on the cheek. “Yes, he is.”

“You sap,” Bitty chirps, but he’s hardly paying attention as he examines the high end appliances, opening and closing the two stoves, and poking at the buttons on the built in icemaker. 

Jack goes into the living area and sits down on the couch. It’s a tasteful caramel colored leather, with red and blue plaid throw pillows that give the room a more casual touch. The chairs are dark blue, and there is a red and blue rug on the floor that he realizes is from his parents’ summer house on Prince Edward Island. He remembers lying on the rug, reading, and tracing the intricate patterns with his fingers. It’s a nice touch, having it here. He catalogues this away on the growing list of things he needs to thank his parents for.

The living area and dining space are ringed by floor to ceiling windows, which gives Jack pause, but Bitty sees him looking and starts pulling the curtains closed. “Next Wednesday the decorator is coming to put in sun blocking blinds,” he says, “and your mom has a plan for some kind of special glass – but she said she’d save that for your birthday, so don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Jack laughs. “As if she’s going to stop there.”

“Gift horse, Jack, gift horse.” 

It’s hard to be very upset about his parents’ largess when it makes Bitty so happy. And frankly, Jack himself has an overflowing bank account which he has hardly touched in the past year. He’ll pay his parents back eventually, when all the excitement calms down.

Bitty spins around, making sure all the windows are covered, and then puts a hand out to Jack. “Let’s look downstairs.” 

Near the dining table is a door leading down to the basement. It’s cooler down here, and dark; Jack likes it. It soothes him, even at night, to be somewhere enclosed.

“So, this main room can be our primary guest room,” Bitty begins. “The couch pulls out, and there’s a full bath, so it’s perfect to give Shits and Lardo their privacy.” Jack nods, and follows Bitty into the room.

“Then over here is an office, and this room-” Bitty opens another door, and flicks on the light, “will be the exercise room.”

Jack looks inside. There’s an elliptical machine, and a small television on a stand, but there’s more than enough space to add other equipment, and for them to both work out.

Bitty has already moved on, heading up the stairs, when he pauses. “Oh, there’s a laundry room down there too. And some storage space. Probably the heater and some electrical stuff…” 

Jack smirks. Clearly he’s going to be the one in charge of home maintenance.

They pass through the first floor living area again and go up to the second floor. The landing is spacious, with built in bookshelves along one wall and the half wall which overlooks the dining area, and enough room for a desk and chair, or maybe a sitting area.

“There are two bedrooms up here, and a full bath. One of the bedrooms is bigger than the other,” Bitty pushes open a door and looks inside, nodding. “This is it.”

There’s a king size bed with a wooden headboard, and a dresser with a mirror. 

“We can add some more personal touches,” Bitty says. “There isn’t even a bed yet in the other room. We tried to get as much done as we could, so you wouldn’t have to worry about it, but I also didn’t know how much you’d want to do yourself, so if there’s anything you don’t like, we can switch things out, it’ll be easy enough, I’m on a first name basis with your mom’s favorite decorator-”

“Bitty?”

Bitty stops talking, and closes his mouth with an abashed look. “Yes?”

“It’s perfect. I love it.”

Bitty blushes, and sits down on the bed, looking up at Jack. “You do?”

“I do.” Jack sits down next to him, running his hands over the fluffy white comforter. “Thank you.”

“Aw, it was as much your mom as me. Your dad tried to help but frankly your mom wasn’t having any of that, he must be terrible with furniture selection or something-”

This time Jack cuts off Bitty’s rambling with a kiss, and Bitty responds with a soft noise of approval, leaning into Jack’s arms. They break off and Bitty snuggles against him with a sigh.

“I’m really glad you like it, Jack,” Bitty says. He opens his mouth to continue but all that comes out is a gigantic yawn. “Oh, my, excuse me.”

Jack gives him a quick peck on the cheek and pets his head. “You must be exhausted. Why don’t you get into bed and I’ll go get our things from the car?” It’s almost five o’clock in the morning, and Bitty had done all the driving. Even with their afternoon nap, neither of them is used to staying up this late.

Bitty gazes up at him, and then nods. “That sounds wonderful, sweetheart.” 

Jack gives Bitty’s hand a squeeze, noting that he doesn’t waste any time before curling up under the blankets, and heads downstairs. He grabs his coat from the hallway and shoves his feet into his boots, not bothering with the laces, and goes outside. 

As he closes the door behind him, making sure he doesn’t get locked out, he takes a moment to look around. All that he can see from here is their car in the small clearing, and the dirt road heading away from the house – other than that, there’s just trees. He thinks about going running here, up and down the narrow roads, no one in sight.

Jack walks around the house, stopping to listen every once in a while, but the only sounds are those of the forest. The deck that starts at the side where they are parked wraps around the back of the house, and Jack realizes that the living room must open on to it. Maybe in the summer they can sit outside at night and look at the stars.

As he finishes circling the house and gets to the car, he cringes at the snow that has crept into his boots. There are drifts of three or four feet near the house, and he can tell it is deeper out towards the woods. But despite the damp, Jack is warmed by the understanding of how much Bitty has given him, this retreat from the world, but equipped with everything he needs. Most importantly, Bitty.

By the time Jack has carried their luggage into the house and stowed the groceries in the kitchen (moving the containers of blood and a few other items from the cooler to the refrigerator), checked the locks on the doors and turned off the lights, Bitty is fast asleep. Jack takes a minute in the bathroom to brush his teeth and put on a long-sleeved sleep shirt and pajama pants; Bitty says he doesn’t mind the coolness of his skin, but, practically speaking, Jack doesn’t want to shock him when he crawls into bed with him.

Soon enough he’s snuggling under the comforter, finding another layer of soft blanket underneath, and stretching out gratefully. It’s been a long day, and his anxiety has been kept mostly at bay, but he’s relieved to have a chance to let himself relax. 

Gently, so as not to wake Bitty, Jack arranges the blankets around them both. He huffs out a laugh as he sees that Bitty’s still wearing his clothes, but he’s so deeply asleep Jack doesn’t want to bother him. Instead Jack just spoons up around his back, rests a hand on Bitty’s stomach to hold him close, and lets sleep overtake him.

*****

There’s light creeping in under the door when Jack hears a noise. A glance at the clock shows that they’ve only been in bed for a few hours, and Jack quickly realizes Bitty is talking in his sleep.

Bitty’s mumbling softly, not making much sense, and he’s shaking. Jack feels his stomach clench when he makes out a few words.

“Lord, please keep Jack safe. Don’t let him be scared. He shouldn’t be alone. Please, let him come home.”

It’s clearly a dream, maybe a memory, and it makes Jack sick to think of how worried Bitty must have been when he was gone. But there’s no need for him to worry any more.

“Bitty?” Jack says softly, raising up to see his boyfriend’s face. “Hey, Bitty, wake up. Please wake up.” He strokes Bitty’s bangs away from his eyes, and gives his shoulder a gentle shake. 

Bitty just whimpers, still in the hold of the dream, and Jack sits up and scoops Bitty into his arms until his head is tucked against his neck. “Honey, wake up. You’re having a bad dream,” he says firmly, rubbing his hand on Bitty’s back.

Bitty rouses, blinking, and looks up. “Jack?”

“I’m here, I’m right here. We’re okay.”

Bitty is slow to come out of it, still disoriented. “What happened?”

“We drove up to Maine last night. We’re in the new house. It’s almost New Year’s.”

Understanding dawns on him, and he gives Jack an open smile, then ducks his head and rubs his face on Jack’s chest. “That was an awful dream.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bitty shakes his head and looks up. “No, it’s all right. As long as it wasn’t real.” He gazes up at Jack, so full of love and relief, and Jack feels his heart swell.

“Not anymore.” He gives Bitty a kiss, then lies down and pulls him with him, letting Bitty curl up against his side. He’s so warm, and he smells so familiar, Jack wants to hold him forever.

“We can still sleep some more, right?” Bitty asks drowsily.

“Absolutely.”

“Mmm, good. Good night, Jack.”

“Night, Bitty.”

Remarkably, they sleep until mid-afternoon, their late-night journey apparently having tired them both out. But it doesn’t matter – they don’t have much planned for their day, even though it’s New Year’s Eve. They spend some time exploring the house again, Bitty chattering on excitedly about what to bring back with them next time they come up, and what they’ll need to buy.

“There are three bathrooms, Jack – three! We’ll need more towels, for sure, and some bits and pieces to make it look homey. Although I guess we can take our time finding things. Your parents want to sell your old apartment, so we can have all of that stuff moved directly up here, that will fill in the exercise room some, and we can put your old bedroom furniture into the second bedroom upstairs, unless we want to do something else with that space...”

Jack knows Bitty is mostly talking to himself – he makes sure to get Jack’s attention when he actually wants a response – it’s how Bitty works, his brain processing information as he says it out loud. 

Jack wanders down to the basement, checking the heat to make sure it is cooler on purpose, not because of some malfunction. Probably best to keep it cooler, if they are going to be working out down here. He pauses in the empty room off to the side, and almost doesn’t notice Bitty until he comes up behind him, winding his arms around his waist.

“Do you want this one?” Bitty asks.

“What?”

“This room – do you want it?”

“For what?”

“For an office, or you know, whatever you want. A private space.”

Jack turns in Bitty’s arms and tries to read his expression. He’s not being chirped; Bitty just gets that as much as he doesn’t want to be alone, he also needs time to be by himself. More than he had in Bitty’s tiny apartment. 

“It doesn’t have to be this room,” Bitty says, taking Jack’s hand. “You can have the second bedroom upstairs, if you want. I’m going to want a space to work, too – I thought I might use the landing upstairs, it’s nice and airy.”

Leave it to Bitty to pick a private space that isn’t really private at all.

“No, um, I think this room would be great.”

Bitty squeezes his hand. “Perfect. We can put your desk and chair from your apartment in here, then – or you can get something new. And definitely some bookcases. Whatever you want.”

They have a casual meal at the kitchen island, making lists of things to do while Bitty eats his sandwich and Jack drinks his dinner. He tries not to think of how unfair it is that Bitty – his sweet southern baker who thrives on feeding others – is reduced to cooking for himself, with occasional forays into the world of vampire-appropriate snacks. He’s tried to apologize to Bitty for this, but each time Bitty just frowns at him and brushes it off, saying that there’s more to caring for someone than baking pie. Which is logically true, but it still seems like the most painful irony.

After dinner Bitty runs upstairs, telling Jack to hide his eyes. Jack hears him coming back down the stairs, and then the front door opening and closing. When Bitty comes back in to the house, pink cheeked and smiling in his orange parka and green wool hat, he instructs Jack to dress warm and join him in the car. He’s clearly got some kind of adventure planned.

The sun has just gone down, and Jack feels good as he walks outside to the car. He’s so thoroughly covered up he probably would be fine anyway, but he had noticed earlier that with the heavy tree cover not a lot of direct sunlight reaches their house even before twilight.

Bitty’s quiet as he turns the car around. Just a few yards away from the house is a turn in the road that Jack hadn’t seen last night, but Bitty is clearly looking for it.

“Close your eyes, we’re almost there,” Bitty says. Jack complies, although he can’t tell if Bitty is excited or nervous, and it makes him a little anxious, not knowing. But then the car is off and Bitty is opening his door and giving him a tight hug. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re going to like this.”

Bitty insists that he keep his eyes closed, so he slides carefully out of the car, and takes measured steps through the crunching snow, Bitty holding his arm.

“All right, you can open them.”

Jack opens his eyes and blinks. He can hardly believe what he’s seeing, although now that it’s right in front of him, it seems like the most obvious thing in the world.

It’s a small lake, or maybe a pond, flat and shining and frozen solid. He glances at Bitty, who has a skate bag slung over his shoulder, and is practically jumping up and down with excitement.

“What do you think?”

Jack can feel the smile stretching across his cheeks, and he resists the urge to tackle Bitty to the ground – he’d get all wet. “I can’t believe you bought me a lake, Bittle.”

Bitty grins. “Technically, your mom bought it. And our property only goes around about half of it. But the other side is conservation land, no one lives there.”

Jack steps closer, looking at the reeds that poke through at the edges of the clear ice, and wonders how solid it is.

“It’s safe,” Bitty says, as if reading his mind. 

“My mom had it checked, didn’t she?” Jack says. There’s a theme to this, and he’s given up being annoyed about it.

“’Course she did. I’ve got some rope and rescue equipment in the car, too, just in case. And a lantern. Although the moon was awfully bright last night.”

Jack has assumed that his night vision had improved, along with his hearing and everything else, and the fact that he can see the ice clearly is probably a good indication.

“Well, want to go skating?” Bitty asks.

Jack nods, and reaches for the bag in Bitty’s hand. “I think I do.”

They realize quickly that it will be easier to get their skates on while sitting in the car, and pile into the back seat. Jack gets his skates on first, and comes around to Bitty’s side of the car. When Bitty’s ready, Jack places his hands on Bitty’s shoulders and rubs his nose against Bitty’s – now colder than Jack’s usually is. “You are amazing.”

“Oh, pish. You had to know there’d be lakes in Maine.”

But this isn’t just any random lake in Maine, dotted with people ice fishing and ringed with vacation houses. This is their lake.

Jack holds out his hand to Bitty and they step on to the ice carefully, striding slowly as they get used to the bumps and ridges. 

“I imagine, being from Canada and all, you skated outside all the time,” Bitty says.

“Not all the time, but often enough. Especially when I was younger.” And it wasn’t all so serious. Jack does remember a thing or two about skating on natural ice, however, and watches Bitty carefully until he gets used to it.

“I imagine, being from Georgia, you never did.”

Bitty laughs. “No, this is my first time.” He looks up and beams at Jack. “I like it. It’s very peaceful.”

It’s been almost a full year since Jack has skated, but it feels as easy as breathing – easier, even. Bitty warms up quickly, and soon they are racing back and forth across the wide open space. It’s like flying, like freedom, and Jack can’t believe how much he’s missed it. 

After about an hour his legs begin to ache, and there’s a twinge in his left ankle from where he took a turn too hard. “Embarrassing for an NHL player,” Jack says when they get back to the house, stretched out on the couch with his socked foot in Bitty’s lap as he massages the spot.

“Now, sweetheart, you haven’t been one of those for a while,” Bitty says gently. “But with a little bit of practice, you can skate just as well as you want to.”

As well as I want to, Jack thinks. Not as well as he once had to. To satisfy his father, his team, his boss. Just as well as he wants to.

“Like, for fun,” he says, not even meaning to say it out loud.

Bitty tilts his head at him and smiles softly. “Exactly.”

They debate watching the Times Square ball drop on television, and decide against it. Bitty brings his laptop upstairs, suggesting that they watch a movie, but Jack has other ideas.

He has spent so long trying not to think about sex with Bitty, figuring that it would just make it harder to abstain, if that’s the direction they were going in. But little by little, Bitty has broken down his defenses, calmed his fears, just like he does with everything else. On Christmas Eve Jack had finally let himself go, opened himself up completely, and the sky hadn’t fallen. Even when he relinquished all control, he hadn’t bitten Bitty.

During the past week they hadn’t gotten close to anything like that night. Jack thinks that both of them have been trying to take it slow, waiting for the other to make the next move. Bitty has been so good about not pushing him, but Jack wants to do it again. And again. And as many times as they want to, like it had been before, when they reached for each other as casually as they kissed good night.

Jack wants to see Bitty laid out below him, golden hair mussed, eyes wide and pupils blown. He wants to hear him make those noises and call his name. He wants to make Bitty feel good, and then wrap himself around him as if he’s never going to let go.

So when Bitty turns to him in bed and asks if he wants to watch the latest Marvel movie, it takes Jack so long to process his words that Bitty starts to laugh.

“Oh my heavens, you don’t want to watch a movie at all, do you?” Bitty asks, his voice sinking low.

“No, not so much,” Jack says, watching a blush rise over Bitty’s face. Bitty can read him like a book sometimes, especially when he’s thinking intimate thoughts about the two of them. Jack puts a hand to Bitty’s cheek. “Could I persuade you to save the movie for tomorrow?”

Bitty smiles, his blush deepening. “You certainly may.” Bitty’s eyes drift close as Jack presses their lips together, but when Jack pulls back to continue nibbling at his jaw, Bitty stops him with a hand on his arm.

“Jack? I have to tell you something.”

Jack freezes. “What?”

Bitty hastens to soothe him, hands on his shoulders and gaze intent. “Don’t be worried, it’s nothing bad.” This doesn’t really help, but Jack nods, trying to keep his breath even.

“Go ahead.”

“When we were together last week… and you were – close – you were kissing my neck…” Bitty looks pained, and Jack is confused.

“But you like that, don’t you?”

“Oh Lord, yes, I do. It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

Bitty hesitates, and Jack sits back, suddenly needing space. “Just tell me, Bits.” 

“My neck tingled. Where you were kissing it. Like something in your mouth was making my skin feel…” Bitty swallows. “I wanted you to bite me.”

“No no no-” Jack feels a wave of panic, and then Bitty’s hands are gripping his, hard.

“It’s okay, Jack. This isn’t bad. It really isn’t.”

“I thought I was okay,” Jack babbles out. “That this hadn’t changed, between us. That we could still have sex, like normal, not all fucked up by this awful thing-”

“You are okay, Jack. We are both okay – we’re great. All I’m saying is that if you want to, I’m willing. More than willing.”

Jack raises his eyes to Bitty’s, and is blown away by what he sees – not just the love and patience Bitty always radiates, but a curiosity and arousal that suddenly _does things_ to him.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his heart rate calming.

Bitty scoots closer to him again, and leans in to press a hard, dirty kiss to his lips. He pulls off with a smack, and tilts his head up lazily to meet Jack’s gaze. “I’m sure.”

Their clothes are off in record time, and soon Bitty is hovering over Jack, kissing down his neck, lavishing attention on every inch of him. Jack is hard before he knows it, but Bitty completely ignores his cock, licking and sucking at his nipples until he’s moaning, then sliding his hands down, parting his legs to kiss the tender skin at the top of his thighs.

“Can I blow you?” Bitty asks, and Jack nods quickly, barely registering Bitty’s smirk in response before he feels the warm heat of his mouth envelop him.

It’s amazing, and Bitty brings him close, then backs off, then to the edge again, until Jack is a shivering, shaking mess. Bitty climbs back up his body, his hands soothing and teasing, then finds his mouth and kisses him fiercely.

Jack rolls them over, then sits up and lets himself take in the sight. Bitty is even more beautiful like this than he remembered, mouth red from his efforts, eyes bright and happy. 

“I love you, Bits,” Jack says, running his hands along Bitty’s sides, coming to rest on the jutting bones of his hips. 

“Love you too, Jack.” Bitty smiles up at him, then sits up to kiss him some more. 

“What would you like, love?” Jack says, holding Bitty against his chest and nipping gently at his earlobe. Bitty hadn’t finished him off in his mouth, and if their old patterns still hold true, it means he wants more. 

“I’d like you inside me,” Bitty breathes out, pushing his hips against Jack’s, their cocks brushing against each other. “Please.”

Jack lets Bitty fall back down on the bed, and Bitty grins gleefully, arms flopping up over his head. 

“My pleasure,” Jack says, and indeed, it is. 

He tries not to let himself get too caught up inside his head as he goes about getting Bitty ready. He lies down next to Bitty and kisses him for a while, letting his hand roam over Bitty’s chest and down to his leaking cock. Bitty gasps as his hand curls around it, and Jack gives him a few strokes before proceeding further.

Bitty is eager, hips rutting against Jack’s body, one leg coming up over Jack’s thigh to give him more space. Jack circles his hole, teasing until Bitty is gasping. He starts to move away for a moment to get the lube, and Bitty clamps his leg down over his hand. “I’ll get it. You keep doing that,” he says breathlessly, contorting himself to reach up and under the pillow, where he had apparently stashed it in anticipation of this possibility.

“You put that there,” Jack says, grinning as Bitty squeezes some out on to his hand and coats Jack’s fingers.

“I did. Any problem with that?” Bitty asks.

“No, none at all.”

“Then please continue,” Bitty says, and Jack does. He loves it when Bitty gets bossy.

Jack sits up a little as he pushes a finger into Bitty, and Bitty wiggles with anticipation, his hands dropping from Jack’s sides to clutch at the sheets. “Another, come on.”

Jack complies, and this time there’s more resistance. He tries to go slow, but Bitty is bearing down on his fingers, sweaty and wild. Jack keeps them there for a few minutes, moving in and out as Bitty croons with pleasure. “Oh yes, Jack, right there. Right there. So good.” 

Soon he’s begging for a third, and Jack slides his fingers out, adds more lube, and then presses back in, switching up the angle and watching as Bitty’s whole body starts to tremble. He strokes Bitty’s cock with his other hand. It’s rock hard and the combined stimulation is almost enough to send Bitty over the edge.

“Not yet, honey, not yet,” Bitty pants out, almost overwhelmed. “I want you now. I’m ready. Come on.”

Jack pulls his fingers out, lubes himself up, and then positions himself between Bitty’s legs. Bitty lets out a long sigh as Jack pushes in, grabbing tightly to Jack’s forearm with one hand, the other tugging at his own hair. “Oh god, Jack, yes. Oh my god, yes.”

Jack starts to move back and forth, and the pressure quickly mounts. He knows he’s starting to babble, too – “so beautiful, Bitty, you’re so beautiful” – and he wants to say more, to tell Bitty how he’s everything, how he has done the impossible, but he can only pant out “I love you, I love you,” as Bitty groans and squirms underneath him.

Then Bitty is grabbing him by the back of his neck and raising himself up to kiss him hard on the mouth, lips and tongue and teeth, and when he lies back down he takes Jack with him, arms coming around Jack’s shoulders to hold him close. It’s harder to move in Bitty at this angle, and he’s able to catch his breath, enjoying the slower push-pull for a moment. He experiments, getting a hand under Bitty’s ass so he can thrust in deeper, and Bitty whines, pulling his legs up and grabbing his knees. “Feels so good, Jack. Harder. You can go harder.”

Jack obeys, pulling out and surging forward with increased force, then easing off until he finds a rhythm that Bitty seems to respond to, if the delicious noises he is making are any indication. Jack leans down to find Bitty’s mouth again, then drops kisses along his jaw and down his neck, keeping up the movement into Bitty until Bitty is making desperate, breathy moans with each inhale. Jack’s getting close himself, panting against Bitty’s neck, when he suddenly remembers what Bitty said before they got started about the tingling skin on his neck. Jack pauses, and is just about to sit up and prevent any unintentional biting when Bitty grabs him firmly by the back of his head. 

“Don’t go, Jack. Stay right here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But stay here.” Bitty thrusts his hips up, and Jack starts moving again, tentatively, as Bitty whispers the unimaginable into his ear. “I want you to bite me, Jack. If you want to. I want to be clear – I want it, too.”

Bitty’s other hand moves up and down Jack’s back, and then grips his ass, encouraging him to keep going. Jack picks up the pace, thrusting in and out of Bitty, until they are both dripping with sweat, focused only on the feeling of where their bodies are touching, waves of pleasure pushing them closer and closer.

Jack’s whole body is throbbing with arousal, and the ache isn’t limited to his cock – he can feel it everywhere. Jack’s mouth is resting on the thin skin just over Bitty’s collarbone, and he gives an experimental lick up the side of his neck. Bitty gasps, and wraps his arms tight around Jack’s shoulders. “Do it, Jack. Try it, please.”

Jack can feel the tingling in his mouth, now, too. He’s about to come himself, he can feel it, and he’s having a hard time remembering why he shouldn’t do what Bitty is asking him to do. 

“Oh, fuck, Jack, I’m so close,” Bitty moans, practically convulsing underneath him. “Do it. Bite me.”

And so he does.

Jack doesn’t know where the sharp teeth came from, but they pierce Bitty’s skin and suddenly the increase in sensation is overwhelming. He can feel his orgasm crashing over him, and from what he can tell, Bitty is coming too, practically screaming with the effort.

Everything goes dim, then. Jack is vaguely aware of Bitty pulling the blanket up over them and curling in to his side, murmuring endearments and taking Jack in his arms. When he comes to a little while later, Bitty is snoring gently against his side, looking like a little debauched angel.

Bitty blinks his eyes open when Jack shifts, and a soft smile spreads across his face. “You okay, honey?”

Jack nods, pressing his face into Bitty’s hair.

“You don’t have to be bashful,” Bitty says. “That was amazing.”

Jack stays where he is. Bitty’s hair smells good, even sweaty as it is, and it grounds him. “It was amazing,” he agrees shyly. “But - are you okay?”

Bitty pets his head and doesn’t insist that he look at him, which Jack appreciates. “I am more than okay.” Bitty lets out an astonished laugh. “I had no idea I could come that hard. I think I may have broken something.”

Jack swallows hard. “How’s your neck?” 

Bitty sits up then, and runs his fingers over the spot. Jack peers at it. There are two tiny red dots, nothing more. “It’s a tad bit sore, but that’s all. Honestly, I just remember wanting you to bite me – wanting it, like, a ridiculous amount – and then a quick burst of pain, and then that fantastic orgasm.”

Jack blushes furiously, and digs his face into Bitty’s arm.

“You love it when I talk sexy, don’t you?” Bitty teases, pressing a kiss to Jack’s cheek. “How did you ever survive Shitty all those years?”

“He wasn’t talking about sex with _me,_ ” Jack mumbles. 

“Come on, you’re a sex god and you know it,” Bitty says affectionately, winding his fingers through Jack’s hair. 

Jack shakes his head against Bitty, warmed through with a mix of pride and embarrassment. He can’t quite believe what just happened. He hopes Bitty isn’t playing down the weirdness of it all, but when he picks up his head and gazes into his lovely brown eyes, he doesn’t see anything but love.

“You’d tell me, right? If I hurt you? You’re sure you’re okay?” Jack asks.

“I’m sure, sweetheart. I am perfectly, thoroughly wonderful. Although – can I ask you something?”

Jack nods. “Of course.”

“Did you actually, um, drink from me?”

Jack snorts out a laugh. “I don’t think so – I think I passed out too fast. I must be the world’s worst vampire.”

“Of course you’re not, honey, you’re a wonderful vampire,” Bitty coos at him, grinning all the while. “And besides, there’s always next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all liked this one :) After this, there’s just the epilogue. Thanks for coming on this journey with me.


	24. Epilogue

They return to Providence to get organized for the move and tie up loose ends. Bitty gives his notice to Lily, and gets a glowing recommendation from her that he’s sure will help him get a job at a bakery in Maine. Shitty and Lardo come to visit, and pass on to Jack what they’ve learned about street photography from their class. Bitty and Jack clean out Jack’s old apartment and get it ready to put on the market; Alicia will handle the actual sale long distance with the help of the same broker they used to buy it in the first place.

Towards the end of January, Bitty keeps his promise and goes to a home game at Samwell. Shitty and Lardo come too, and Bitty sticks close to them both, relying on them to redirect questions about Jack so he doesn’t have to lie to his friends. Lardo is expert at this, as always, but it seems like Shitty has been practicing as well – and he doesn’t drink anything except root beer all night long, which probably helps.

At the end of the night, when Shitty has already headed outside to warm up the car, Ransom corners him in the Haus kitchen. “I know we haven’t been particularly close lately,” Ransom says, looking uncomfortable but determined, “but I’d do anything for Jack. Keep that in mind, okay?” He gives Bitty a mock salute and leaves the room before Bitty even has to come up with an answer.

The first few months in Maine they mostly keep to themselves, enjoying the safe space they have created. Jack’s parents come to visit, and Bitty has to keep excusing himself into the bathroom, he gets so emotional at seeing the three of them together. The following fall, they work with a skilled media advisor, and slowly release the story they have put together for Jack: he was attacked while out running, was badly injured, and was not able to return to professional hockey; he still remains out of the public eye, and asks for his privacy to be respected.

Bitty works part-time at a bakery in Bethel, and loves it. But he doesn’t feel the need to make it into more than it is; he values his time together with Jack too much, and he continues to write about cooking. He takes an online course on nutrition, and eventually starts a new column addressing cuisine for people with dietary challenges (although none as unusual as Jack’s).

By the time the two year anniversary of Jack’s attack comes around, they have been in touch with most of their Samwell friends, Georgia, and a few of the Falconers. Jack keeps up an ongoing email correspondence with Tater. But it’s still uncomfortable for Jack to spend extended amounts of time with people who don’t know the truth about his condition.

After he’s no longer hiding, however, Jack has more flexibility in what he can do. He decides to work with a local charity coaching hockey in the evenings. They assign him a group of troubled teens. Jack’s cool, pale skin is unremarkable on the ice, much as Bitty had envisioned. He doesn’t ever tell the kids the details about the attack that ended his professional career, but they seem to respect him for having been through difficult times.

Almost four years after Jack’s attack, late one evening in December, Jack and Bitty get married in a small ceremony in their living room. Shitty officiates. Only he and Lardo and their parents are present, but it’s wonderful.

One night, years later, after a long visit from Shitty and Lardo and Sari, their rambunctious two year old, Jack gets a text from Ransom.

 _Click here_ is all it says. It’s a link to a clip from a news show.

Bitty leans close to Jack on the couch as they watch in fascination as Ransom – introduced as Dr. Oluransi – explains what the news anchor calls “his curious findings.”

“It may be hard for people to believe, but I have reason to know there is a need for this treatment.”

“Do you truly expect the public to accept that there are real vampires out there, and that you are spending their money trying to find a cure?” the anchor asks.

“Not vampires like in the movies, but something similar enough on its face. And don’t worry, I’m not spending the public’s money. My research into this condition is entirely funded by a private donor who chooses to remain anonymous.”

“Why would someone throw their money away on such a fantastical idea?”

“Obviously he doesn’t think it’s fantastical,” Ransom says calmly. “And let’s just say he has a very personal interest in helping the victims of this disease. Luckily, we anticipate beginning trials in the next year.”

“So you’ll be able to turn vampires back into humans?”

Ransom gives an audible sigh. “They aren’t actually vampires, and we don’t need to turn them back into anything. But we’re hopeful we’ll be able to treat them, yes.”

Without saying anything, Bitty goes back to the beginning of the video, and they watch it again, and then a third time. Finally, they put Jack’s phone down, and look at each other with tears in their eyes.

“Ransom always said he had your back,” Bitty says softly. “Who knew?”

“My father, apparently,” Jack says. “How much you want to bet he’s the ‘anonymous donor’?”

“Could be Shitty,” Bitty suggests.

“Nah. He’s got the money, but he could never keep it a secret from us for this long.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bitty sighs, curling up against Jack, “I’ll be so happy for you if this works out.”

Jack laughs and tugs Bitty close against him. “Of course you will. You’ll have someone to eat your pies again.”

“Plenty of people eat my pies, as you are well aware.”

“True enough.” Jack combs his fingers through Bitty’s hair, and Bitty can tell he’s thinking through whatever he’s about to say next. “But – Bitty? Don’t get your hopes up, okay? Who knows what Ransom’s up to, really. Even if he does come up with something, it might not work. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

Bitty sits up and places his hands on Jack’s chest. “Jack, sweetheart, this isn’t about me. Sure, I’d like you to be able to go outside in the sunshine, and eat whatever you want, and not feel like you have to keep so much of yourself hidden. But I’m never going to be disappointed in you. Never.”

Jack ducks his head and then looks up, his eyes wide and trusting. “I love you, Bitty.”

“Honey, I love you too. Like the flower loves the rain.”

“You goof,” Jack says, nuzzling into his skin. Bitty stretches out his neck in invitation, and wonders if he can convince his husband to go have sex to celebrate. But apparently Jack’s mind is on other things.

“Bits?”

“Yeah?”

“If it does work… will you make me an apple pie with a maple sugar crust?”

Bitty grins, and pulls Jack into a tight hug. “Absolutely.”


End file.
